


Double D's

by bustyCrustaceanBusStation



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Multi, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:08:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bustyCrustaceanBusStation/pseuds/bustyCrustaceanBusStation
Summary: Slow burn Dorothea/Dimitri, primarily Dorothea's POV, and exploring some dynamics among Black Eagles and Blue Lions students that deserved more love than they got.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	1. White Clouds: Prince and Pauper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fódlan's finest gather for swordplay at Garreg Mach, and Dimitri's defenses are tested.

It was a “normal” fall afternoon by the standards of the Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy, which bore little resemblance to more standard standards. Dimitri and Felix were hogging the training ground with a vicious clash of wooden sword and spear; the professors were swapping stories while putting up the pretense of fishing in the pond; and somehow, somewhere, Caspar was getting into a fight.

On this particular day there was a small audience gathered to watch Dimitri and Felix’s duel. Sylvain had gone there to practice with Felix, who had ditched him to fight a stronger opponent in Dimitri as soon as the young prince set foot in the training grounds. Petra and Dorothea came together a little while later just after the battle started, and now the three of them were spectating from the sidelines.

“He’s slowing down, you see that?” Sylvain said, pointing at Dimitri with his chin. “Felix knows he can’t match Dimitri in strength, so he’s mostly been dodging. Smart guy.”

Dorothea smiled. “Oh, yes,” she said, “he’s smart _and_ he’s got impressive stamina. Lucky you!”

Sylvain glanced at her and huffed. “C’mon, Dory,” he said, “it’s not like _that._ He just owed me a favor and I wanted to drag him to the ball, that’s all. The guy needs to lighten up once in a while.”

“He’s a good dancer, too - you’d be surprised,” he added, as an afterthought.

“Perhaps I will,” Dorothea said. Sylvain snorted. Petra, who had been watching Felix’s technique with interest, nodded solemnly.

“It is not good to be spending all of the time training,” she said. “I have gladness that you are a good friend to him.”

Never one to accept praise with ease, Sylvain shrugged her comment off before waggling his eyebrows at Dorothea. “By the way,” he said, “I haven’t heard who _you’re _taking to the ball. Gonna show up on the arm of some knight?”

“I’m not an _ornament_, Sylvain,” Dorothea snapped, hitting his shoulder. Sylvain clutched his other hand to his arm and pretended to be gravely wounded, before grinning and raising his hands in a sign of apology. Dorothea rolled her eyes, but didn’t try to hide a smile.

“Actually,” she said, “I haven’t decided yet. There’s plenty of good men here, to be sure, but…”

“Let me guess,” Sylvain said, raising an eyebrow, “you wanna make it a night to remember, not just another date?”

Dorothea nodded. “Yes, something like that,” she said. “It’s such a romantic occasion, you know? Everyone getting dressed up for the event, dancing into the night, and of course that whole legend about the Goddess Tower…it’s like a scene straight out of one of my operas!”

Petra smiled at Dorothea. “You speak often of these operas, Dorothea,” she said, “I would love to be learning about them from you.”

Dorothea returned the smile and squeezed Petra’s hand. “Of course, sweetie,” she said, “and please, you can call me Dory.”

The gesture of affection did not escape Sylvain’s notice. Had it been directed at anyone other than Petra, he would have pounced on the moment like a cat chasing a mouse. He’d never been able to get a good read on her, though, both because of the language barrier and that sincere nature of hers that mixed with his like oil and water. Either she didn’t understand his jibes or chose not to react, and he couldn’t tell which possibility bothered him more.

It was during this moment of reflection that the action in front of them came to a climax. Dimitri had allowed his guard to drop for a brief moment, and within an instant Felix had closed into striking range. A tight smile played on Dimitri’s face as Felix lunged in; Felix’s eyes widened, but it was too late. Dimitri sidestepped the thrust, whirled around as the momentum of Felix’s lunge carried him forward, and used the shaft of his spear to knock Felix to the ground. Before the Fraldarius heir could get back to his feet, Dimitri placed a careful foot between his shoulder-blades and tapped his spearhead against Felix’s neck.

“I’ve won, Felix,” Dimitri said, panting from the exertion, “good match.”

On the ground, Felix growled something indistinct and raised his sword hand in a sign of submission. Dimitri knelt and extended a hand to help him up, but Felix ignored the offer and pushed himself to his feet.

“You didn’t win, boar,” Felix said, dusting himself off, “I lost. When I saw your feint, I should’ve looked at your hips instead; you were clearly baiting my strike and preparing to counter. That would never work in a fight to the death.”

Felix shrugged off his padded training jacket and Dimitri followed suit; Dorothea decided to let herself enjoy the view of the prince’s thick arms and broad shoulders moving steadily as he continued to undo the buckles on the rest of his equipment. He still hadn’t noticed his audience, after all, and surely there was no harm in just looking.

Dimitri's expression was pained. “No, Felix,” he said, “you fought excellently, and I am ashamed that I had to exploit my knowledge of your motivations to bait you into overextending. Truth be told, I believe that match could have gone either way; shall we call it a draw?”

Felix scowled. “Don’t give me your pity,” he said, stalking away, “it’s no draw with your spear on my neck. That’s twelve for you, eleven for me this moon.”

He’d almost made it to the doors of the training hall when Petra called out to him. “You fell with great hardness,” she said, “are you hurt?”

“No.” Felix shoved the doors open and slammed them behind him, leaving Dimitri to notice the group around him for the first time.

“Oh! My apologies, ladies,” he said, bowing to Petra and Dorothea, “I didn’t notice you come in. Felix and I do have a habit of monopolizing the training ground, and I can’t afford to take my eyes off him in our duels; I hope I wasn’t making you wait for long.”

“You’re apologizing to _them_? What am I, chopped -“ Sylvain began.

“No, dear, it’s fine,” Dorothea said, cutting him off, “Petra and I have only been here a few minutes.” Which was technically true, she added to herself, depending on your definition of ‘few’. “And besides, watching the two of you fight was _most_ educational. I had no idea you had such good footwork!”

As she’d hoped, Dimitri chuckled politely. “You flatter me,” he said, “but I’m hardly anything special. Just another student trying to improve my skills.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes and went to pick up some of Dimitri’s gear. He was a serial womanizer and relentlessly smarmy, yes, but it was clear to Dorothea that the redhead always kept an eye out for his friends. For his part, Dimitri handed over his equipment to Sylvain without a word; she wondered whether the prince understood how much he meant to him or just took him for granted. 

“I think you’re plenty special, Dimitri,” Dorothea said, idly twirling a strand of hair in her fingers, “though I must say I appreciate your modesty after talking with Sylvain here. He could learn a thing or two from you.”

Sylvain made a face and stuck his tongue out at her, and she returned the favor with a wink and blowing him a kiss. Petra started warming up with some simple stretches nearby, and seeing how Dimitri was at a loss for words, Dorothea chose to press on.

“Speaking of your footwork, dear,” she said to him, “are you looking forward to the ball? Your Highness would _most_ grace us with his presence.” On “Highness” she threw in a coquettish curtsey, and was rewarded with the sight of Dimitri turning a vivid hue of red.

Dimitri tugged at the hem of his shirt and coughed. “Ah, yes,” he said, not managing to maintain eye contact with Dorothea, “I…suppose I am. I’m…not much of a dancer, to be honest, but I would hate to disappoint my friends by not showing up.”

“Forgive me,” he added, bowing stiffly, “but Sylvain and I must be on our way. Farewell, Dorothea; farewell, Petra.”

Petra paused her practice swings to return the bow, and Dorothea curtsied again. Dimitri went an even deeper red, and made for the door with Sylvain behind him.

Before the pair could exit the training grounds, Dorothea called out to Dimitri. “If you’d like some dancing lessons before the ball,” she said, “I’d love to help you!”

“Oh!" Dimitri half-turned and waved back at her. "Why, thank you, I will keep that in mind!” With those parting words, the prince and his friend made a none-too-graceful exit from view, leaving Dorothea alone with the Brigid princess.

Dorothea ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. That had gone about as well as she’d figured, which is to say not as well as she’d hoped. His manners were princely to a fault, but in other respects he was just like so many other teenage boys she’d known. Perhaps worse, even; Still, there was hope for him yet.

“That boy is stiff as a log,” she said aloud, “and just as dense.”

Petra walked over and looked at her quizzically. “I have confusion,” she said, “it was my understanding that wood was not having much density. Wood can float on water, and therefore it has…it is not dense, yes?”

Dorothea turned to her and smiled. “Well, yes,” she said, “but it’s just - it’s a figure of speech, Petra. I mean that he’s uncomfortable taking compliments.”

“That, and he didn’t know where to look when talking to me,” she added with a small giggle. “Poor thing.”

Petra couldn’t find the words to respond in a language that her friend would understand, so she remained silent. She had noticed how the amount of chest Dorothea was exposing with her uniform didn’t exactly comply with Garreg Mach’s dress code, of course; she’d also noticed how the boys tended to respond. The two of them had spent many an evening on the couch of their class's common room discussing the pros and cons of Dorothea's suitors, and after hearing how they had treated her Petra couldn't help but think of Dorothea as a doe trying to find a mate among a pack of wolves. Fond as she was of her, she had to admit to herself that she was glad Dimitri wasn't taking her bait. Perhaps he’d be different. 

“Dory,” she said, “would you be able to teach me some Fódlan dances as well? It would bring me great pleasure to be learning from you.”

Dorothea, who had been unenthusiastically swinging one of the practice swords around, dropped the wooden weapon to the ground and clapped with enthusiasm.

“Why, of course, Petra,” she said, moving towards Petra and clasping her arm, “that would be so much fun! And perhaps you could teach me some Brigid dances? You'll have to be the lead, I'm afraid, but if you're okay with that..."

Something stirred in Petra’s stomach, and she smiled. “Yes,” she said, “let us be starting right away!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/4: Changed the chapter title. (Old one had charm, but really didn't fit.)


	2. Picking Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanging out in the greenhouse ft. the gardener

****After leaving Petra to continue training on her own following their impromptu lessons, Dorothea made her way down towards the greenhouse. The path there, with its cobblestones flanked by the dormitories on one side and the classrooms on the other, had a constant background hum of chatter and activity that reminded her of being on the streets of Enbarr.It was still warm enough to enjoy her walk without needing a heavy coat, especially after dancing with her friend for the better part of an hour, but she knew the chill of winter was ready to return at any moment.

Her room was along the route, so Dorothea decided to stop in and change into a clean shirt before continuing. Almost everything she’d ever owned lay before her as she shut the door behind her; half a wardrobe’s worth of clothes and accessories, a poster from the Mittelfrank Opera Company, an extra pair of shoes, her diary, and a blanket she’d brought all the way from Enbarr. Every piece of furniture belonged to the Academy. She’d spent most of what she’d earned during her days as a diva just to get herself here, and the bareness of her room reminded her of that every time she walked in.

Dorothea took off her jacket and tossed it aside, aiming for the back of her desk chair. It landed on the wastebasket next to her desk instead, knocking it over and spilling its contents onto the floor. She looked at it, sighed, and went to her wardrobe to change.

After slipping on a pullover that used to belong to a previous suitor, Dorothea hung her jacket on the back of her chair and knelt down to clean up the mess. The bulk of it was letters and cards - more than she’d thought she’d thrown away - all of them from the menagerie of young men who had tried to win her affections. Some had sent flowers as well, whose fallen petals and wilting leaves now adorned her floor.

She paused to flip through a few of the letters as she piled them back in their place in the wastebasket. They’d tried, bless them. They’d bought her gifts, sent poems or written ones of their own (all terrible), taken her out to dinner, and done everything that was supposed to be done when courting a lady. But whenever she’d looked at their faces, she saw the same eyes she’d seen from the suitors of her opera days, eyes belonging to men twice or even thrice her age and gleaming with desire. And desire wouldn’t last. Not as long as she’d need it to.

A few minutes later, Dorothea pushed open the door of the greenhouse and paused to let the heady aroma of the flowers waft over her.

“Hello, dearie!” The gardener stuck her head up from the row of plants she was tending to and waved with a pair of gardening shears. “Lovely to see you, always. Get the door, would you? They don’t like the cold.”

Dorothea smiled and pulled the door shut before giving the gardener a slight bow. “Of course, Auntie,” she said, “and how are they doing?”

She assumed the gardener had to have a real name, but she’d insisted on having the students address her as Auntie and the name stuck.

“Oh, just fine, thank you for asking,” Auntie said, bending back down to prune some errant branches from the bush in front of her. “We’re reaching end of season for most of these here lovelies, so one more crop and then we’ll clear them out to make space.”

“Don’t mind me,” she added, “stay here as long as you’d like.”

Dorothea thanked her and wandered towards the flowerbeds. She hadn’t planted anything herself, but several of her classmates had marked out their own plots, and she enjoyed checking the progress of their plantings. There was Dedue’s cluster of root vegetables, Ashe’s cabbages, Raphael and Ignatz’s shared plot of squash, and an entire row of flowers belonging to Professor Eisner, among others. None of her classmates from the Black Eagles had anything in their name. Horticulture, she suspected, was beneath them.

The sound of someone humming a makeshift ditty floated through the garden and shook her out of her contemplation. She cocked an ear and listened. The gardener was still hard at work on the other side of the greenhouse, within her sight, while the humming was coming from the back by the windows behind the small trees. Dorothea followed the sound, taking time to appreciate the vivid array of colors along the path, until she found the source: Bernadetta, crouched in a corner, happily feeding a carnivorous plant.

“Why, Mister Snappy,” Bernadetta said, unaware of Dorothea’s presence, “you ate your dinner _awfully_ quick today. Have you not been fed enough? And Miss Pitcher, you seem a bit down; I’ll let Auntie know that you’re not feeling so well.”

Dorothea got close enough to see that her classmate had a small box of bugs and a pair of tweezers, which she was using to drop the crawly things into the waiting maws of her plants. Bernadetta attended to the plants with motherly love, humming her made-up tunes as she sentenced the creatures of the box to be trapped and slowly dissolved. It was gruesome to think about, but Dorothea couldn’t look away and didn’t dare interrupt.

After another couple minutes of this, Bernadetta straightened up, and Dorothea took the opportunity to cough politely. “Hello, Bernie,” she began, “this is a pleasant surprise!”

“Eep!” Bernadetta started and whirled around, then relaxed her shoulders a fraction when she saw Dorothea in front of her. “O-oh, hello Dorothea,” she said, putting the box and her tweezers behind her back, “…when did you get here?”

“Just now,” Dorothea said. The poor girl was already ashamed about existing, she knew; no need to give her anything else to be embarrassed about. “Are those your plants?”

Bernadetta squirmed and avoided her gaze. “N-no,” she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dorothea gave her a small smile. “I saw you feeding them, dear,” she said, “it’s alright. I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

Bernadetta stared at her with visible shock, and Dorothea sighed inwardly. If the girl ended up fainting again, she’d have to get someone to run to the infirmary for help, and that was a long way from the greenhouse. Last time it happened she’d been lucky that Raphael was eating nearby, since the huge young man was able to lift Bernie up and carry her off with all the ease and care of someone holding a newborn child. There was no shortage of musclebound idiots at Garreg Mach, but after that incident Raphael was easily Dorothea’s favorite among them.

To her relief, Bernadetta let out a long breath and let her hands rest in front of her with the feeding kit. “Yeah, they’re my babies,” she said, looking down, “I have to give them lots of little bugs and stuff or they’ll starve to death. It’s happened before.”

There was a pause. Bernadetta made eye contact with Dorothea, who raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

“Um,” Bernadetta said, “why are _you_ here? I - I don’t mean that in a rude way, I was just -“

She shut herself up, and Dorothea chimed in out of pity. “Don’t worry about it, Bernie,” she said, “it’s fine. Actually, I’d just come out here to clear my head. This place is lovely for stealing just a moment away from it all, wouldn’t you agree?”

Bernadetta paused again, and then frowned. “Well, sure,” she said, “but what do _you_ have to worry about?”

This time it was Dorothea’s turn to pause. “…I’m sorry,” she said, “what?”

Bernadetta’s eyes widened and she started to stammer. “I - I just, um,” she said, clutching her tools, “you’re so pretty, and popular, and talented, and I look at myself and then I look at _you_ and I just don’t…”

She trailed off. Dorothea watched her, clasping her hands together in front of her and saying nothing.

Bernadetta looked at the floor again. “I’m sorry, Dorothea,” she said in a quiet voice, “I just don’t get what problems people like you could have.”

Years of performing onstage had given Dorothea a sixth sense for timing her responses, and her sense was telling her to give the girl a moment. She let five heartbeats pass in silence before inhaling through her nose and speaking from her diaphragm, a trick she’d picked up from an old singing instructor to compose her nerves.

“Well,” she began, “I’ve got things I worry about, just like anyone else. I’m only a commoner, for one, so I have to find a suitable man to take care of me before I get too old. Plus, I’ve still got the same classes you do, I’m making plans for the ball, and I -“

Dorothea cut herself off when she saw Bernadetta’s expression. She looked like she was either on the verge of tears or about to vomit, possibly both.

“-but if I had to guess,” Dorothea continued, choosing her words with care, “you’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

She was rewarded with the sight of Bernadetta nodding slowly. “I see,” she said, “I’m so sorry.”

When Bernadetta continued to stare at the ground in silence, Dorothea continued. “Anyway, on a lighter note, do you have plans for the ball? I’d be happy to go with you if not!”

Bernadetta raised her head up, and Dorothea could see tears brimming in the corners of her eyes.

“Why would you ever think that I’d want to go?” Bernadetta said, confused. “Being surrounded by people and loud music and not knowing any of the dances? The only _plan_ I have for that night is staying in my room, thank you very much!”

Dorothea took a step back. “I’m sorry, Bernie,” she said, raising her hands up, “I just thought it might be fun if-“

“Fun for _you_, maybe, but I’m different,” Bernadetta said, “okay?!”

She stopped herself and sighed. “Sorry, Dory,” she said, “and thanks for thinking of me, but…that wouldn’t be a good idea. For me,” she added.

For once, Dorothea found herself at a loss for words. Bernadetta said “sorry” again, then hurried past her towards the exit and left Dorothea lost in her thoughts, all alone.


	3. You Have To Break Some Eggs...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Felix get into a food fight, Dorothea makes a move, and Ingrid has the only braincell among her friends.

**Pt3**

Early the next morning, Dimitri found himself eating breakfast with Ingrid, Felix, and Sylvain in the dining hall. They had never said a word about having Sunday breakfasts together, but after they’d all happened to show up at the same time four weeks in a row he had begun to suspect that his childhood friends were making it part of their routines as he had. Ingrid was working her way through a stack of pancakes the size of her head; Dimitri had just sat down next to her with an omelette; across from them, Felix had wolfed down a plate of steak and potatoes before anyone else finished, and now held his chin in one hand while drumming on the table with his other; and a bleary-eyed Sylvain was poking at the sausages on his plate in between sips of coffee.

Ingrid took a pause from inhaling her pancakes to point an accusing fork at Sylvain. “Just what were you doing up so late, anyway?” she said. “I know it’s our day off, but that’s no excuse for forming bad habits. Goddess knows you have enough of those.”

From beneath sagging eyelids, Sylvain’s eyes flickered briefly towards Dimitri, who gave an almost-imperceptible nod.

“I was studying, of course,” Sylvain said, yawning, “because I’m taking the Cavalier exam on Friday, remember? It would suck to fail that and have to retake it later, and I’m a busy guy.”

Ingrid took another bite of her breakfast, and did her best to frown at Sylvain while chewing. Felix smirked at her expression but said nothing.

“I can confirm that,” Dimitri said, before she could open her mouth again, “him and I were studying battalion formations last night. It was his idea, not mine; I should have called it off earlier.“

Ingrid turned to look at Dimitri, who was staring at her with wide-eyed innocence and his signature aura of faint, generalized guilt. She knew his room was right next to Sylvain’s, so if anybody would know what had led to his present sorry state, it would be the prince.

She sighed and put down her utensils. “Well, as long as you get to bed earlier next time,” she said, getting up from the table, “I suppose it’s none of my business. I’m going to refill my tea; I’ll be right back.”

Once Ingrid had walked out of earshot, Felix leaned over the table at Dimitri. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said.

Sylvain elbowed Felix in the side and grinned at the prince. “Still good enough,” he said, “so thanks, buddy.”

While Dimitri was thinking of a response, Felix punched Sylvain in the shoulder; Sylvain retaliated by throwing an arm around Felix’s neck in a headlock and rubbing the knuckles of his spare hand on Felix’s head in a motion that - as he had explained to Dimitri during their childhood - was called a “noogie”. Felix wriggled out of the deadlock and backhand-slapped Sylvain across the face, then seized Sylvain’s coffee and tossed the remaining liquid at him while Sylvain was still reeling from the slap. Sylvain yelped as the hot coffee splashed against his neck and shirt, grabbed his fork with a piece of sausage still on it, and lunged towards Felix to smear the sausage on his face. Felix attempted to ward him off with his free hand as he wound back with his other arm to hit Sylvain with the mug; Dimitri rose from his seat to try and restrain Felix, and their breakfast was stopped short of becoming an all-out brawl only by the sound of a familiar voice coming from behind Dimitri.

“What is this,” Dorothea said, “a lover’s quarrel?”

Dimitri looked over his shoulder. Ingrid and Dorothea were standing behind him with their own plates of food. Ingrid looked ready to erupt into a fit of scolding, while Dorothea was giggling quietly. Across the table, Felix scoffed and separated himself from Sylvain, who started looking for a napkin to wipe himself off.

“I’m really sorry, Dorothea,” Ingrid said through gritted teeth, “they’re always like this. Such _children_, you know?”

Her second phrase was directed at the food-stained boys, who both ignored her with as much dignity as they could muster. Dimitri cleared his throat and lowered himself into his seat.

“Yes,” he began, “you two should behave yourselves. Food fights are not very becoming of future knights.”

“Like you’re one to talk, boar,” Felix snapped, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “You’re little more than an animal.”

Dimitri lowered his gaze and shut up. Ingrid resumed her seat next to Dimitri and handed Sylvain a napkin, glaring at him the entire time. He mumbled thanks and started to pat himself down. Dorothea walked around the table and diplomatically placed her tray between Felix and Sylvain. Sylvain shuffled to give her space as she sat down, while Felix refused to budge an inch.

Ingrid resumed the task of finishing her pancakes, and Dorothea sipped at her tea in between nibbling on a blueberry scone. Dimitri, for his part, scrupulously avoided avoided eye contact with Ingrid while he picked at his omelette. The air of embarrassment and indignation emanating from the boys at the table was so thick that Dorothea could have bottled it for use as a cheap perfume.

Dimitri was the first one to break the silence, waiting to speak until Dorothea had polished off half of her breakfast. “So, Dorothea,” he said, inclining his head to her politely, “…how are you this morning?”

Dorothea covered her mouth with a hand to hide a fleeting smirk, and rested her arms on the table as she leaned towards him. “I’m quite well,” she said, “thank you for asking! Actually, I was planning on breakfast with our dear Petra, but she was up at the crack of dawn and already ate, so when I saw Ingrid in line here I figured I would come say hello.”

She watched his face closely, keeping her expression carefully neutral. His eyes flickered towards her chest for a fleeting, inadvertent moment, then returned to meet her gaze. Dorothea’s mouth twitched upwards in the faintest hint of a smile.

“I’d return the courtesy,” she added, “but…”

She directed his attention to the brooding Felix with a nod of her head.

“…it’s pretty obvious how _you_ are right now,” Dorothea said, with her best polite giggle.

Felix grunted, while Dimitri shook his head and smiled. “As Ingrid alluded to, squabbles like this are not an unusual occurrence for these two,” he said, “though you would be correct to assume that I find it…somewhat tiresome. Still, they are my friends, and I’m grateful that we can have mornings like these to relax and have some harmless fun.”

“Not very harmless for _me_,” Sylvain muttered. “That assho- er, _he_ could’ve burned me if it’d been fresh coffee,” he said, correcting himself after Ingrid coughed with audible menace and glared at him.

Dimitri cleared his throat. “Er, yes,” he said, “but regardless, I am thankful. We won’t have days like these forever, and I am glad to enjoy them while they remain.”

Dorothea nodded in agreement, then leaned back and snapped her fingers. “Oh,” she said, “that reminds me! Have you thought any more about my offer?”

Ingrid blinked and looked from Dimitri to Dorothea. “Your what now?” she said.

“Dorothea has graciously offered to provide me with dancing lessons leading up to the ball,” Dimitri said to Ingrid. Ingrid raised an eyebrow at Dorothea.

“That’s very nice of you, Dory,” she said, cutting up another pancake with her knife as she spoke, “but what did you ask for in exchange?”

“Me?” Dorothea placed a hand over her heart. “Why, nothing; aiding Your Highness is a reward in itself,” she said. “How many girls could claim to have taught a real-life prince how to dance, especially a commoner like me?”

Dimitri shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, Dorothea,” he said, “but nevertheless, it would be inappropriate of me to ask such a favor of you without offering you something in return. Even as one friend to another,” he added, “let alone as a prince to a commoner, as you say. Name what you would like, and it would be my privilege to provide it.”

Next to him, Ingrid made eye contact with Dorothea and rolled her eyes theatrically. She’d spent enough time with Ingrid to understand the gesture; its precise meaning varied from one context to another, but here it was being used to convey the suggestion of _look at this princely idiot._

“What a gentleman,” Dorothea said, smiling at Ingrid before turning her attention to Dimitri. “Well, since you asked, ever since I was a little girl, living on the streets of Enbarr, I’d dreamed of one day dancing with a prince; since Your Highness is the most princely man here - in more ways than one - would you do your dear Dory the honor of giving her the first dance at the ball?”

She could feel the pressure of every pair of eyes at the table turning towards her, and Dorothea wondered if perhaps she’d pushed her luck too far. It did not escape her notice that Ingrid’s grip had tightened to a white-knuckle grasp on the knife she was using to cut her pancakes, either.

Finally, after a moment of agonizing silence, Dimitri spoke up. “That seems to be a fair price,” he said, nodding his head, “and it would be my pleasure. I hope I will not let you down!”

“Oh, thank you, sweetie! I’m sure you won’t,” Dorothea said, rising from her seat to perform a small curtsey. “If you’re free tonight, I’d love to get started as soon as possible. How about it?”

“Tonight?” Dimitri scratched his chin. “Well, I suppose so, if that’s what you-“

“Great,” she interrupted, “I’ll see you in the Great Hall at the sixth evening bell, then - and bring good shoes! Enjoy your mornings, everyone!”

Dorothea performed another curtsey to the rest of the table, blew a kiss at Ingrid, and sauntered away with the remaining half of her scone. Sylvain made eye contact with Ingrid, who shrugged in response, and waggled his eyebrows. Dimitri looked at his plate in stunned silence, and it took Felix speaking up to shake the others out of their thoughts.

“She left her tea mug here,” he said. “inconsiderate wench.”


	4. Private Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri heads to his first dance lesson with Dorothea, Caspar makes a guest appearance, and some things can't be unsaid.

A few minutes before the tolling of the bell that was to begin his first dance lesson, Dimitri was making his way through the gardens towards the Great Hall. The stars were out in force tonight, and the sound of gravel crunching under his boots was all that he could hear. While Dimitri knew in an abstract sense that it was a chilly night, the frigid autumn air was a welcome sensation; his years in Fhirdiad had permanently altered his perception of how cold it had to be in order to qualify as “cold,” a classification that excluded any temperatures above freezing. This level of coolness was familiar, and comforting, like slipping on a well-worn jacket.

Dimitri allowed himself to smile up at the stars as an old memory rose to the surface of his mind, unbidden. It had been an evening much like this one, about five years ago: his father had sent him out of the city to practice horseback riding, under the supervision of his friend and Felix’s father, Duke Fraldarius — or just “Rodrigue”, to Dimitri. Rodrigue had seen fit to bring both of his sons along for practice, too; Felix was spooked by the horses, despite his protests to the contrary, while Glenn had approached the animals with his characteristic easygoing confidence. After finishing the day’s lessons, the three of them wore themselves out chasing each other around in the nearby grove, and they all fell fast asleep together on the carriage ride back into the city.

Another thought bubbled up from the dark waters of his memory, and Dimitri’s smile faded away. That was, he realized, the last opportunity they’d ever had to spend an entire day together with just the three of them.

“One day, Glenn,” he said to the stars, “I’ll see you again.”

At that moment, a voice called out to him through the darkness.

“Hey, Dimitri! What’cha doing out here?”

Dimitri blinked and turned towards the sound. He saw Caspar’s small, wiry frame emerging from around a bend of the path up ahead, and the Adrestian boy waved at him.

“Ah, Caspar,” Dimitri said, performing a small bow, “I was…just going for a walk.”

“Yeah? Alright,” Caspar said with a shrug. As he got closer, Dimitri noticed that he had a bandage covering up most of his left jaw. “Kinda cold for that, but I guess you’re probably used to it, aren’t you.”

This time it was Dimitri’s turn to shrug. “I suppose,” he said, “but - I’m sorry, are you hurt?”

Caspar gave him a confused look. Dimitri tapped his jaw in the same spot where the other boy had his bandage, and Caspar’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, that,” he said with a chuckle. “Yeah, this is nothing - you should’ve seen the other guy!”

“Right, that reminds me,” Caspar added, scratching his head, “Dory said she was looking for you. Don’t remember why, but she asked me to tell you. Anyway, catch you later!”

Dimitri waved as Caspar trotted off into the night. The workings of that boy’s mind were a mystery, he reflected, and the biggest mystery of all was whether or not you would be able to see daylight if you looked into one of his ears. He had nothing against the pugilistic young noble, and found his frankness refreshing, even, but there was no denying that Caspar was more interested in the physical applications of his skull as a battering weapon than developing the contents within. Perhaps the repeated blunt trauma had affected his thinking.

The first bell announcing the top of the hour rang out through the night, and Dimitri picked up his pace. It would not do to keep a lady waiting.

When Dorothea hurried into the Great Hall, she was greeted with the sight of Dimitri’s back as the prince focused his attention on one of the many portraits hung up on the walls of the room. He turned at the clacking of her heels on the wooden floor, and bowed in greeting.

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” she began, moving towards him, “I was on my way over when I saw Caspar bleeding all over the place after one of his silly fights, so I _had_ to make sure he’d actually go to the infirmary, and _then_ I realized I didn’t have the right shoes for this, so I had to run all the way back to my room, and…I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long!”

Dimitri waved a hand to dismiss her concerns. “Not at all,” he said, “and please, just call me Dimitri. I was a tad late myself so I’ve only been here a few minutes at most. You did the right thing by helping out a fellow student; that’s nothing to apologize for.” It had been at least a quarter of an hour, in fact, but he wasn’t about to mention that.

Dorothea ran her hands through her hair and sighed. “You’re a sweetheart, Dimitri,” she said, “thanks.”

The two of them went silent and stared at each other, waiting for their turn to speak. This pause remained for longer than either of them were entirely comfortable with, until Dimitri cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

“So, how should we-“ he started.

“I was thinking we could-“ Dorothea said, at the same time. They paused again.

“You go first,” she said, trying to repress the flush she felt rising on her cheeks.

“No, it’s fine,” Dimitri replied, “I was just about to ask what you had in mind; after you.”

Dorothea realized she was twiddling with the hem of her jacket, and clasped her hands behind her back to prevent herself from doing it further. “Well,” she said, “my thought was, we can just run through some of the basic steps and patterns together, and that way I can get a sense of what your strengths and weaknesses as a dancer are. How does that sound?”

She looked imploringly at Dimitri, who nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a wise course of action,” he said. “I’ve learned some of the basics, but I haven’t had much occasion to dance in recent years, so please forgive me if I’m rusty.”

Dorothea smiled and raised her arms into the beginning pose for a ballroom dance. “Excellent,” she said, “then let’s start with seeing how well you lead.”

Following her cue, Dimitri held the hand of her outstretched arm and tucked his other hand on Dorothea’s back, close to her shoulder blades. “How’s this?” he asked.

She winked at him. “We’ll work on it,” she said. “Now, I’ll give us the beat, and you start off with whatever pattern you’re most comfortable with, alright? Don’t overthink it, just move in time with the music. _One_, two, three, _one_, two, three…”

After concentrating on the rhythm for a moment, Dimitri began a simple waltz figure. Dorothea let him lead her through the motions for a few repetitions before beginning her commentary.

“Smaller steps, dear; remember that I — and any other girl you dance with — will be doing this backwards, wearing a dress, and in heels.”

“The footwork is good, but your leading arm isn’t just for show - use it to guide me! You can grab my hand a little more tightly - ah, not _that_ tight.”

“Eyes up here, Dimitri? If you’re looking at your feet the whole time, I can’t watch your face for cues.”

Dorothea tapped Dimitri’s broad shoulder with the hand that was resting on his forearm. “You’re doing great, sweetie,” she said, “but can we adjust your form just a little…? I’ve got an idea.”

Dimitri, who had been gazing into the space just to the right of her face, looked at her with surprise. “Of course, Dorothea,” he said, “I would be happy to oblige.”

To his shock, she slid closer to him until she was less than half an arm’s-length away, moving her free hand up to his bicep as she did so. “There,” she said, “isn’t that a bit more comfortable? I felt like I was about to spin off like a top with how far out you were holding me!”

Dimitri flushed red and looked away again. “This - it’s rather close, isn’t it?” he said.

“Dancing is _supposed_ to be close, dear,” Dorothea said with a smile, giving his arm a friendly squeeze, “otherwise it’s no fun.”

“By the way,” she added, “you can move your arm a little lower on my back and to your right. Surely that angle you’ve got right now can’t be comfortable?”

She felt his hand inch closer to the small of her back. “Only if that’s what you’d prefer,” Dimitri said, “I would hate to do anything that made you uncomfortable.”

Dorothea giggled. “You’re allowed to touch me, Your Highness,” she said, “I don’t mind.”

Against all odds, Dimitri managed to turn an even brighter shade of red, and Dorothea decided to prompt him to pick up the dancing again. The pair traced a circle in the center of the room, Dimitri glancing at Dorothea’s face every few seconds only to avert his gaze just as quickly each time. In the candlelit emptiness of the hall, he was acutely aware of the swishing of her skirt, the steady rise and fall of her breath, and the feeling of her fingers in his. Reading others was not a skill Dimitri had cultivated, but every time he looked into her eyes he found himself wishing he’d learned how.

“So, Dorothea,” he said as they danced, in an effort to quell those troubling thoughts, “why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself? Among the Black Eagles, I understand that you’re something of an exception, but not much beyond that; I would like to get to know you better.”

A flash of some unidentifiable emotion appeared on Dorothea’s face before it settled back into her typical pleasant smile, and once again Dimitri bemoaned his lack of skill in interpreting expressions. “Well,” she said lightly, “there’s not much to say, in truth. I’m not some big noble like the others, it’s true, and I don’t have any Crest; I’m just an orphan from Enbarr who made it big as a songstress, decided to enroll at the Officer’s Academy, and now I’m here.”

Dimitri considered his options. He could offer her praise for making her dream come true; there was a line of inquiry to be made about life as a songstress; her status as the only commoner in the current Black Eagles class was interesting; and there was also something else…

“What a coincidence,” he said, chuckling, “I’m also an orphan, of sorts.”

Dorothea stopped in her tracks. “I beg your pardon, Dimitri,” she said, “but…what?”

He looked at her with worry etched in his brow. “Ah, well,” he began, “my father, the late king of Faerghus, was -“

“No, I know about Duscur,” she interrupted, “and - I am **deeply** sorry for your loss, dear, that must have been awful. Sorry, it’s just…I wasn’t expecting _that_ to be your response.”

Dimitri extracted his leading hand from hers and pinched the bridge of his nose. “My apologies,” he said,“I was attempting to make a humorous observation about something we have in common. It was never my intention to cause discomfort; please, forgive me.”

Dorothea sighed, and moved her now-free hand to pat Dimitri’s other arm. “Trust me, Dimitri,” she said, “that’s not the worst response I’ve heard from men trying to get to know me. It might not even be in the bottom ten.”

Dimitri chuckled ruefully, and Dorothea separated herself from him to look him up and down. He was still avoiding eye contact with her in favor of inspecting her shoes, and she noticed that his fingers were clenched into tight fists. There was something almost pitiful about his downcast expression, but looking at him gave her a sensation that she’d only felt before while standing on the edge of a balcony on the highest floor of the cathedral here, staring at the dizzying drop before her.

“Tell you what,” she said, “how about we pick this up tomorrow? It _is _getting somewhat late, and I wouldn’t want to keep you up all night,” she added, forcing herself to not wink at him out of habit.

Dimitri looked up at her. “That sounds like a good idea,” he said, “though it would have to be Tuesday instead; I have some assignments that I must work on tomorrow night. Does that work for you?”

She smiled at him. “Yes, thank you,” she said, “see you then!”

The matter was settled. The pair bid each other goodnight, and left the Great Hall through separate exits towards their respective dormitories. With pounding hearts and sweating palms, both of them reached the doors of their rooms with the same thought in mind: _That could’ve gone better._


	5. The Morning After, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of a rough Monday morning for Dorothea, ft. the dysfunction junction known as the Black Eagles with special guest Felix.

BING. BONG. BING. BONG.

Dorothea grumbled and pressed the sides of her pillow to her ears to drown out the sound of the bells. She just needed a few more minutes, then she’d head to class.

BING. BONG. BING. BONG.

She opened her eyes and glared at the bare ceiling of her room, squinting in the early morning light. Her body appeared to lack the energy necessary to get itself out of bed, and she was disinclined to force it. With how little sleep she’d gotten, it was going to be a slow starter regardless. Dorothea stretched out, wishing her bed was large enough to fully sprawl out, and settled back down as the gears in her mind started to spin up.

Oh, she’d had awkward nights with awkward knights before, that was nothing new. If Dimitri was just another one of them, she would’ve slept like a baby. But he wasn’t any other knight, he was a damn _prince_, likely the only prince she’d ever be this close to, and it had ended like…that. Dorothea put a hand over her eyes as the memory of their exchange rose to the surface of her mind. How could someone so well-educated as him be so dumb? And for that matter, what had possessed her to think any of this was a good idea?

Another thought floated down Dorothea’s stream of consciousness, and she sat bolt upright in her bed.

“That was _eight_ bells, wasn’t it,” she said to her room.

Her outfit from last night, still lying in a heap on the chair where she’d tossed it, provided no answer; neither did the pile of books on her desk. Dorothea stared at her window, trying to clear the fog from her head through sheer willpower. Then, the last gears clicked into place in her mind, and she groaned. She wouldn’t be able to see her room this well in the first place if she’d woken up before the eighth bell. It was time to be in class five minutes ago.

When she pushed through the doors of the Black Eagle classroom, Dorothea was greeted with the sight of Sir Alois’s avuncular figure standing behind the lecturer’s desk, carrying the attendance scroll. He looked up at the sound of her entrance and wagged a finger at her, making no attempt to change his trademark smile.

“Ah, you just missed the mark,” Alois said, putting away the scroll, “I finished taking attendance not half a minute ago, so I’m afraid I’ll have to put you down as ‘tardy.’ Sorry!”

Dorothea mumbled an apology and moved over to her usual seat next to Petra, a few rows back from the front of the desks. She whispered “Good morning” to the Brigid princess and blew her a small kiss as she sat down; Petra pantomimed catching the kiss out of the air and slipping it into her bag before smiling at Dorothea. With a group like the Black Eagles, Dorothea was glad that she had a friend who was just as foreign to the political web of the Empire as she was.

Even the location of where her classmates sat reflected the tension that hung over their heads. It all started with Edelgard, who had assumed her place in the front row on the first day of classes; whether she took the position because of her royal status or because of her academic zeal was unclear to Dorothea, but what _was_ clear was that Edelgard had no intention of moving. In response to her, Ferdinand had claimed a spot in the front row on the opposite side of the room, and _that_ had led to Hubert finding a seat from which he could observe both him and Edelgard. Hubert had given Petra the evil eye — which was very similar to his normal eye, Dorothea added to herself — when she’d attempted to sit next to Edelgard, so Petra had settled for a seat directly behind the heiress a few rows back. Linhardt oscillated between the second-most front row (wide awake) and the back row (sound asleep) depending on how much the class in session interested him, and Caspar would sit next to him and try to get away with copying his notes in either situation. With Dorothea taking refuge next to Petra, that left Bernadetta, who tried to sit wherever she’d have as few people looking in her direction as possible.

It was, Dorothea concluded, a bit of a headache.

Alois’s booming voice shook her out of her contemplation. “By the way, Dorothea,” he said, “you didn’t happen to see Bernadetta on your way over, did you?”

Dorothea shook her head. She hadn’t even noticed Bernie’s absence from the classroom until now; the girl made a point of standing out as little as possible.

Alois frowned and drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. “Ah, well,” he said, “hopefully one of you kids can help her catch up with today’s material. We’ve not got a moment to waste, so let’s get right to it!”

True to his word, the portly knight launched into the morning’s lecture, a discussion on the logistical challenges posed by needing to supply arms and munitions to an army on the move. Dorothea leaned an elbow on her desk and propped her chin up in one hand, trying to take notes without much success, while next to her Petra was paying rapt attention. She was on the verge of nodding off when she felt Petra nudge her foot beneath the desk; when she glanced over, Dorothea saw Petra looking at her. They made eye contact, and Petra tapped her own shirt with her spare hand before gesturing at Dorothea’s with a subtle nod of her head. Dorothea glanced down, then adjusted her blouse and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Petra. The princess winked in reply, and before she could stop herself, Dorothea felt a blush spreading over her face. Her friend struggled with Fodlan’s tongue, it was true, but she had proven herself to be a fluent speaker of body language.

As Dorothea and Petra made their way out of the classroom an hour later, discussing the central points of the lecture, they were approached by a concerned-looking Ferdinand.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said, giving them a small bow, “I was wondering if you could provide me with some assistance on a particular matter.”

Dorothea snorted. “What,” she said, “the noble Ferdinand von Aegir needs help from a humble commoner like poor old me? Pinch me, Petra, I must be having a fever dream.”

Petra looked at her, perplexed, while Ferdinand cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. “Dorothea,” he said, “as I’ve said before, I do not understand why you feel the need to antagonize me so, but I am more than willing to overlook it. As it happens, this has to do with a classmate of ours, about whom I’ve recently had cause for concern.”

Dorothea opened her mouth to respond, but she was interrupted before she could start by the sound of her stomach growling. “Ferdie, dear, that’s sweet of you,” she said, “but I’m sure Edelgard can take care of herself. As for me, I need to get myself some breakfast or else I might faint on the spot, so I’ll see you later. Bye, now!”

“No, wait, it’s not -“ Ferdinand reached out a hand to stop her, but Dorothea was already out the door and hurrying away. He turned to Petra, who gave him a friendly wave as she walked past. Ferdinand rubbed the temples of his forehead and sighed.

“What did I ever do to you?” he said under his breath.

Outside the classroom, Dorothea noticed a shadowy figure detach itself from the wall in the corner of her vision as she walked towards the dining hall.

“Hey. You.”

She turned to look over her shoulder, and saw Felix sauntering in her direction with a scowl plastered across his face.

“My name’s Dorothea, Felix,” she said, continuing to walk, “you’re more than welcome to use it.”

Felix jogged to catch up until he was keeping pace next to her. “Whatever,” he said, “I don’t care. I need to talk to you.”

Dorothea looked at him sideways and pursed her lips. “It must be my lucky day,” she said, “getting accosted by so many noblemen like this. Can it wait until after I’ve eaten, at least?”

“Just shut up and hear what I have to say,” Felix said, “it’ll be faster.”

Dorothea stopped in place and turned to glare at him. “_Excuse_ me?”

“Great,” Felix said, unperturbed, “now listen. Stay away from the boar if you know what’s good for you.”

Dorothea blinked at him in confusion until she remembered whom she was talking to. “You mean Dimitri,” she said, “right? What…are you talking about?”

Felix rolled his eyes at her. “I’m just telling you the truth,” he said. “No matter what he pretends to be, he’s nothing but a feral beast, driven by wrath and bloodlust. I’ve seen it myself, Dorothea. Keep your distance if you want to live.”

For once, Dorothea found herself at a loss for words. Felix was wrong about Dimitri, she knew it, but…there _was_ something in Dimitri’s eyes that frightened her, on occasion. The crown prince was as kind, modest, and noble as they came, and yet she couldn’t help but think of what it had been like to watch him right before they’d parted ways last night. His entire body had been as tense as a piano wire, and whatever he’d been looking at while she was trying to salvage the conversation must have been coming from inside of his head rather than outside; he had the face of a man watching someone die before his eyes.

Perhaps, she realized, that was precisely what he’d been seeing.

“…Thank you, dear, but I can handle myself,” she said, remembering that she had an audience, “so if you’ll excuse me -“

Felix grunted in resentment, but stepped aside to let her pass and turned to walk in the opposite direction. She made it another ten paces towards the dining hall before a nagging question made her stop again and turn around.

“Hold on, Felix,” she shouted at his back, “did Ingrid put you up to this? I know you wouldn’t really…”

_You don’t give a damn about me,_ she thought to herself. Which was true, but she didn’t want to say it out loud, all the same. She saw Felix shrug his shoulders and continue onwards.

“Seems like a ‘yes’,” she muttered to herself, making a mental note to check in on that. As with half a dozen other things, it could wait until after she’d had her damn breakfast.


	6. The Morning After, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea and Ferdinand have a chat, and a certain classmate comes up in conversation.

Say what you will about life as a songstress, but at least it allowed for more personalized meal times. The Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy was a machine, made for turning the most promising children of Fódlan into tomorrow’s leaders, and like any machine it operated under a precise set of rules. Many of those rules had to do with time: where you could spend it, what you could spend it on, and when you could spend it. It was one of these rules that Dorothea had needed to break, because the window for breakfast had ended during class.

One of the cooks on duty this morning was from Enbarr, and she’d made a point of befriending her specifically for situations like these. The cook had slipped her a plate of roasted potatoes and scrambled eggs by the kitchen entrance when nobody was looking, which Dorothea was now eating at her favorite table in the gardens outside. The food was lukewarm and getting colder by the second out in the chilly fall air, but it beat going hungry. She smiled sadly at her plate as a thought crossed her mind: this breakfast, humble as it was, would’ve been as welcome as a feast back when she was a street urchin.

“Ah, there you are! I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Dorothea looked up. Ferdinand was treading carefully around the corner, carrying a laden tea tray in his arms and a smile on his face. There were even biscuits on the tray, she noted, hoping that the unwelcome grumble of her stomach wasn’t too loud. If it had been anyone else bringing this to her, she could’ve leapt from her chair and kissed them.

_Well, maybe not Hubert, either_, she added to herself. _Though he’d be quite handsome if he just took better care of his hair…_

“That depends,” Dorothea said aloud, “on what brings you here.”

Ferdinand set his tray down on the table and stood back politely. “I heard you say that you missed breakfast,” he said, “and I happened to have some extra supplies on hand. Please, help yourself.”

“That’s…very sweet of you, Ferdie,” she said, trying to keep her growing suspicion out of her voice, “but I can’t just accept a gift like this -“

“I understand, Dorothea,” he interrupted. “I hope you can take me at my word when I say I have no desire to pressure you for a favor. If it helps, think of this not as a gift, but rather an opportunity for you to help refine my tea collection. It’s something of a hobby for me!”

He gestured to the teapot. Dorothea reached carefully for the handle, and found that it was hot to the touch and heavy with water. She also noticed a platter next to it laden high with tea leaves.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of tea you’d like,” Ferdinand continued as she poured herself a cup, “so there’s a couple of my favorites and some that I understand are popular with the commoners in Enbarr. I’m quite fond of the Almyran Pine, myself; you’ll find bergamot over _there_, a fine Albinean berry blend, here’s some ginger as well, and finally a southern fruit blend. Like I said, help yourself!”

Dorothea was, in fact, partial to the berry blend, but her hand stopped short as she was reaching for it. Ferdinand appeared not to notice. That was one of the things about him that bothered her the most: not _noticing _things_. _He hadn’t _noticed_ how painting her with the same brush as all the other common folk in Enbarr might get on her nerves; he hadn’t _noticed _how transparent his avowal that he wasn’t pushing for a favor had been; and he hadn’t _noticed_ that he could only get away with his thoughtlessness because he was - as he’d tell anyone within earshot, daily - the future Prime Minister of the Empire. Whether Ferdinand meant well or not, the boy couldn’t open his mouth without reminding Dorothea of how vast the difference was between her and all her noble-born classmates, who’d never gone hungry a day in their lives.

She didn’t have the stomach for _that_ conversation right now, though. Dorothea said “Thank you,” placed a handful of the Albinean blend into her cup, and let the water heat up her hands against the cold as Ferdinand stood by the table and looked on.

Dorothea let the tea steep to completion in silence, then grabbed a silver strainer that Ferdinand nudged towards her and removed the leaves before taking a sip. She tried to ignore how intently he was watching the whole process, and with little success.

“Well? Is it not excellent?”

Dorothea set her cup down and paused for effect. Ferdinand’s expectant, practically glowing look of hope was practically begging for her to shoot him down, but…

“I love it,” she admitted, “thank you, Ferdie.” It really _was _excellent tea, too good to waste with petty banter, and giving him a compliment would be a small price to pay for more opportunities like this.

Ferdinand beamed at her. “I am glad to hear that,” he said, “and I will keep your tastes in mind for the future. May I sit?”

Dorothea repressed a sigh. “If you must,” she said. “Do you make a habit of tracking the tea tastes of all of your classmates, or am I special?”

“If I’m hosting someone for tea, it behooves me to know which kinds they enjoy,” Ferdinand replied, taking a seat opposite her. “We may be in the Officer’s Academy here, but my responsibilities as a noble are just as important in peacetime endeavors as in military -- if not more so. Etiquette is a crucial component of those duties.”

Dorothea smirked. “It’s really all about being the noblest noble possible for you,” she said, “isn’t it, Ferdie?”

Ferdinand frowned and shook his head. “While I do take the responsibilities of my station seriously, per your jests,” he said, “I _do _also value my relationships with you and all of the other members of the Black Eagle house on a personal level. Friendship between officers is not necessary for effective leadership on or off the field of battle, but I’d much rather have that than the alternative.”

Dorothea sipped her tea and watched Ferdinand as he spoke. The boy was a fool, to be sure, but she had to remind herself at times like these that he was no idiot.

“Now that I mention it, there’s something along those lines which I wanted to discuss with you,” he continued. “It’s about Bernadetta. I know she’s…reclusive, let’s say, at the best of times, but today marks the fifth occasion she’s missed a class in the past two weeks. It’s an unusual level of absence, even from her. Have you had a chance to speak with her recently, by any chance?”

She took another sip and leaned back in her seat. “Perhaps,” she said, “and what’s it to you, dear?”

The corners of Ferdinand’s mouth tightened, and he sighed through his nose. “Dorothea, I know that you don’t -“ he began, before pausing to compose himself. “Please, Dorothea. This is not about your dislike for me - which, I can assure you, I am well aware of. I’m worried about a friend of ours and her well-being, and I know she is…more comfortable around you than me. If Bernadetta is unwell or having difficulties, I would like to help her, in whatever way I may be of assistance.”

Dorothea set her cup down and looked at Ferdinand as he shifted in her gaze. She hadn’t seen this side of the von Aegir scion before. It was almost unsettling, in a way. After so many months of knowing him as a glory-chasing, self-important noble, watching Ferdinand speak to her as if the two of them were on the same level was like witnessing an understudy unexpectedly filling in for another diva.

What was worse, he was right; it _was_ worrying that Bernie had been so absent lately. She remembered her conversation with the other girl in the greenhouse, that had ended with Bernie rejecting her attempts to help and fleeing in tears. That scene had replayed in her head a dozen times since then, and Dorothea had reached the same conclusion every time: something was hurting her, but trying to drag the truth out would only make it worse. Whether Ferdie would do any good, though…

She saw a look in Ferdinand’s eyes that made up her mind for her. “Well,” she began, leaning forward and speaking slowly, “I spoke with her a few days ago, since you asked. It wasn’t a long conversation, but it sounded like all of the buzz about the ball was making her upset. She must be feeling overwhelmed by it all.”

“I see,” Ferdinand said, steepling his fingers together and resting them on the table in front of him. “Thank you, Dorothea. Was there anything else that might be of importance?”

Dorothea searched his face while she composed her response. Ferdinand had a pleasant face to look at, she had to admit, if too often suffused with self-importance that showed on it like a birthmark. At the moment, though, it showed only concern, and a tenderness she hadn’t seen from him before.

“Not exactly,” she responded, “but…listen to me, Ferdie. Really listen. I tried to get her to open up, and she ran off crying. Bernie's not going to take it well if you just try and drag her out, I don't think.”

Ferdinand nodded. “Then what do you suggest?”

Dorothea pushed her seat back from the table and stood up. “I don’t have all the answers, dear,” she said, “but if you want my opinion? Try to be someone she doesn’t have to be afraid of, for a start. The poor girl is practically shaking with fear, all the time; if she can feel safe around someone outside of her room, it might go a long way.”

“Thank you for the treat,” she added, “and please excuse me, I need to head back to my room to pick up some stuff for magic lessons. Always a pleasure, Ferdie!”

Ferdinand smiled and waved goodbye as he mulled over her words, welcoming the autumnal coolness that the garden provided.

“Someone she doesn’t have to be afraid of…” he muttered to himself.

A light breeze wafted the smell of Dorothea’s abandoned tea towards Ferdinand, jolting him out of his thoughts. He looked at her side of the table and sighed.

Intentionally or not, Dorothea had left him with all of her dishes, including the ones she’d borrowed from the dining hall. Ferdinand began cleaning up the table while composing a reprimand for her on the importance of good manners in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TIL how to use the Chapter Notes.]   
Holidays slowed my progress more than I'd like, but I'm planning to get several more chapters out before I go MIA for a week around Christmas. Thanks to everyone who's been following along so far!


	7. Personal History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Private practice, a hallway encounter, and the interpersonal tangle of the Blue Lions.

As the yellow glow of dusk crept into the sky above Garreg Mach, later that same day, Dorothea was seated at a dusty piano in the chapel basement’s practice room, working her way through a section of a score that she had borrowed from Manuela. She could tell that the piano hadn’t been tuned in a while, and the bench was uncomfortably hard, but it was better than nothing. As long as she had a starting note and could get a grasp on the contours of the melody, that would be enough - from there, she could make it her own.

At least, that was the idea. Dorothea rested her elbows on the piano and slumped forward with a sigh, holding her face in her hands. Manuela had warned her that this was a tricky song to get comfortable with, and she’d brushed it off as merely a show of pride from the elder diva. Now, though, after spending an hour on the first two verses alone, Dorothea had begun to reconsider that perspective.

For the fifth time this hour, Dorothea straightened up and glared at the score in front of her, daring it to reveal its secrets. Hitting the notes wasn’t the problem — it never was — but the lyrics didn’t align with the melody in a way that made sense. The part she was reading was that of a fabled Imperial princess begging for her father’s permission to be wed to a gallant knight, mere days before the knight would be sent off to war and possibly lost forever. It was from an opera based on an old Adrestian folktale; Manuela had scribbled “TRAGEDY” in the header for this song, because everyone in the audience would know that the knight was doomed even before the curtains rose on the opening act. (Even if they didn’t know this plot in particular, stories about Imperial nobility **never **had happy endings.)

Sure enough, the lyrics were full of dramatic irony, with the princess fantasizing about her future with the knight, the children they would raise, and growing old together. They were hopeful, joyful; under normal circumstances, that would call for just playing it straight, ingenue-style — “Build ‘em up, knock ‘em down,” as the Mittelfrank director used to say. But, as far as she could tell, the composer must have had a grudge against the lyricist, because every musical phrase was keyed such to imply that the princess was fully aware of the tragic death awaiting her beloved. They fell when they were supposed to rise, hushed where they should sparkle, and consistently undercut the emotional peaks of the fantasy that the princess was depicting through her song. It was an Act 2 song placed near the end of Act 1, in short, and it didn’t make sense to her.

Dorothea navigated to the top of the score and picked out her starting note, internalizing the pitch before taking a deep breath. If the lyrics were getting in the way of the melody, she could put them aside for now. She counted four bars of lead-in in her head, then launched into a wordless rendition of the song, “ooh”-ing and “aah”-ing to fit the shape of the music as it appeared in her head, giving sound without form to match the emotions. Dorothea could hear the princess’s love, hope, and fear in the rise and fall of each phrase, and let them fill the cobwebbed corners of the room as she sang. Before she knew it, she’d reached the end of the song, and she had to wonder if there was room in an opera for a melody without words.

When Dorothea exited the practice room, she was greeted with the sight of a surprised-looking Dimitri in front of the door.

“Oh! …Your Highness,” Dorothea said, remembering her manners and bowing her head politely, “what are you doing here?”

Dimitri cleared his throat and glanced at the floor before looking back to her. “I, um,” he said, “was taking a break from my studies to get some fresh air and…happened to overhear you singing. My apologies, I had no intention to intrude.”

Dorothea could see that he was beginning to blush. “That’s quite alright, dear,” she said, giving him a smile, “I was just wrapping up here anyway. Besides, it’s hardly an intrusion if it’s just you.”

“Say, if you wanted fresh air,” she added, “why would you come to an underground basement? It’s…rather musty down here, to be honest.”

“Well, I, um…” Dimitri stared at her blankly, and Dorothea resisted the urge to suggest an alibi on his behalf. “I was feeling a bit chilly outside,” he said, drawing himself up, “so I decided to explore a part of the monastery that I had not seen for myself yet. There’s no end to the tunnels and hidden rooms down here, you know.”

Despite herself, Dorothea was impressed. That was almost a believable lie, and coming from Dimitri it was no less than a genius act of deceit. If he hadn’t been wearing a full coat, or if he hadn’t been native to Faerghus and its frigid winters, she might have even bought it. “That’s very true,” she said, then winked at him as a thought occurred to her. “You’ll have to show me around them sometime!”

The blush that had begun to color his cheeks crested into a full-face flush, and Dimitri made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a choking sound. Dorothea pretended not to notice, and let the crown prince gather the shredded tatters of his dignity in front of her.

“Perhaps another night,” Dimitri said, bowing slightly, “but I must return to my work now, I’m afraid. Have a good night, Dorothea.”

_Ah, so he’s not in that kind of mood, _she thought to herself. “Have a good night, Dimitri,” she said, and watched his broad back disappear around a bend in the dimly-lit hallway. She was heading the same direction, as it happened, but she decided to let him get well out of earshot before following. There was no point to making him feel even more awkward, and she had somewhere else to be tonight anyways.

Specifically, she was going to the stables. As she emerged from the bowels of the chapel into the evening air, Dorothea shivered at the chill and picked up her pace. Dimitri hadn’t been lying when he said it was cold out tonight, even if he was better-equipped to handle it than her.

Dorothea could smell the stables before she could see them. Even without the hay, even without the manure, horses had a kind of stink that was unmistakably…_horsey_. She could always tell when Ferdinand had gone out riding if they had class together the same day, because it clung to clothing like cheap perfume. As she approached the doors to the stable, Dorothea thanked the goddess that none of her other classmates had the same affinity for the creatures. One was more than enough.

When she pushed through the doors, a wave of hot stable stink made Dorothea’s eyes water. As she’d been reliably informed (by a certain chatty, redheaded Faerghus noble with a weakness for women), Ingrid was standing amidst the stalls, apparently unconcerned by the funk as she fed and groomed the horses within.

“Ingrid, hello!” Dorothea waved to the other girl. “Just who I was looking for!”

Ingrid looked up, startled, and then relaxed as she saw Dorothea. “Oh, hello, Dorothea,” she said, “what brings you here? I didn’t think you much cared for horses or pegasi.”

“I don’t, really,” Dorothea admitted, “they’re pretty to look at, but just so…sweaty, and smelly, up close. Besides, I’m always worried that they might just buck me off, kick me by accident, and then it’s ‘Goodbye, Dory; we knew ye well’.”

Ingrid chuckled. “That makes sense,” she said, “but they’re really quite gentle creatures once you get to know them. They only kick out if they’re really spooked.”

“Well, I don’t know what would spook a horse,” Dorothea said with a shrug, “and I’m not going to stick around them long enough to find out. I’ll leave mounted combat to the brave women like you, dear.”

Ingrid dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing special, really,” she said. “Did you need something? I’m a little busy, as you can see, but…”

Dorothea saw the opening, and pounced on it. “I just wanted to talk with my dear Ingrid for a minute, if that’s alright,” she said. “There’s something that’s been on my mind lately and I was hoping you could help.”

Ingrid’s brow furrowed, but she turned to face Dorothea and nodded. “Sure thing,” she said, “what’s the matter?”

Dorothea opened her mouth, paused, and then coughed before continuing. “Sorry,” she said, “but…can we talk outside? It’s just a…bit much in here.””

“Hm?” Ingrid blinked, and then the implication dawned on her. “Oh! Yes, of course.”

Dorothea breathed a sigh of relief as she and Ingrid stepped outside, noting that the sky had already gotten dark overhead. It was shaping up to be a cloudy night, and as far as she could tell there was no one but the horses around to overhear them. Once they got a few steps away from the door, Ingrid turned to face her with her arms crossed.

“Well,” she began, “what is it?”

There wasn’t a single man at the monastery who could intimidate Dorothea with just a look — _okay_, _maybe Hubert, _she amended — but Ingrid was setting her hair on edge without even trying. She took a breath to calm herself, feeling the other girl’s eyes on her.

“So, earlier this morning,” she began, noticing a quaver in her voice even as it came out of her mouth, “Felix approached me as I left class.” Ingrid raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. “He seemed…well, he warned me to ‘keep my distance’ from Dimitri, and said it was for my own good. Did you…do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

She watched as surprise, anger, and concern flashed across Ingrid’s face in quick succession. After a long silence, Ingrid rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“I might,” she said, “but…it’s a long story. And not a very happy one.” Ingrid stared into Dorothea’s eyes, and Dorothea could see the challenge she was issuing.

“I’ll listen,” she replied, “I’ve got time.”

Ingrid stared up at the sky and exhaled heavily before bringing her attention back to Dorothea. “Felix and Dimitri have a long history with each other,” she began, slowly, “and they used to be as close as…well, as close as brothers, I suppose. We _all_ have history — those two, Sylvain, and myself — but their relationship is…different.”

She paused to compose herself before continuing. “You might know this already, but Felix had an older brother, Glenn. Glenn was my fiancé; I was still a child when we were engaged, of course, but I knew him and I admired him, and, well, Felix did too.”

“Glenn was…Glenn was killed protecting His Highness, at Duscur.” Ingrid paused again, and Dorothea saw something in her face that she couldn’t identify. “It was an honorable death,” Ingrid said, “fulfilling his duty to his last breath. I miss him, of course, but I…I’m proud of the man he was, and he did the right thing. But Felix doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t understand why his brother, the man he admired most, had to die instead of Dimitri, and I don’t think he’s ever forgiven him.”

Ingrid lapsed into silence once more and stared at the ground. Dorothea felt a weight in her chest, crushing whatever words she tried to summon. It took a small eternity for her to muster enough courage to open her mouth again, and when she spoke it was scarcely more than a murmur.

“I knew about Duscur, but not about…” she said, reaching for the right words, “all of…that. I’m so sorry, Ingrid.”

Ingrid glanced up at her and shrugged. Dorothea instinctively toyed with a strand of her hair before continuing. “There’s one thing I don’t get, though. If he — if Felix hates Dimitri so much, why would he go out of his way to tell me to stay away from him?”

Ingrid rubbed the bridge of her nose again. “Right, that_,_” she said. “Look, Felix is convinced that His Highness is insane; the reason for _that_ is something that I think you should hear from Dimitri himself, since it’s really not my place to say, but anyway — presumably he noticed that you were trying to get closer to him, and, well. Felix doesn’t care about most people, but he also doesn’t like seeing bystanders in danger any more than the rest of us do. That’s my best guess.”

“Huh.” Dorothea pursed her lips, finding herself at a loss for words.

“Well,” Ingrid said, after a short silence, “is that all? I don’t mean to be rude, but I still have to finish up back there…”

“Pardon? Oh, yes, of course,” Dorothea said, “and thank you.”

Ingrid gave her a bow that reminded Dorothea of Dimitri and turned to head back into the stables. She was halfway through the doors when Dorothea spoke up.

“Wait, Ingrid!”

Ingrid turned her head, but stayed in place. “Yes?”  
“You noticed too, right?” Dorothea asked. “Do you…is it a problem for you?”

With the last vestiges of sunlight, Dorothea could just barely see an amused smirk on Ingrid’s face. “You’re not a threat to His Highness,” the Faerghus noblewoman responded, “so why should I care? I’d have to take you down if you were, though!”

Ingrid chuckled at her own joke and left Dorothea outside, wondering exactly how serious that threat was supposed to be.


	8. The Second Lesson, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Developments amongst the Black Eagles, and a certain figure makes another appearance.

Dorothea couldn’t get more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep at a time that night. A death threat from Ingrid wasn’t the sort of thing that she could get over in a hurry, even if it had sounded like a joke at the time. She knew the other girl well enough to understand that she didn’t say things she didn’t mean, and she had no doubt that Ingrid’s sense of duty would take precedence over showing mercy to a classmate if it came to that.

At least it hadn’t been a _personal_ threat, she mused. That would have just been awkward.

After washing her hair and getting dressed, Dorothea went to the dining hall to grab breakfast.She saw Petra seated by herself at the end of one of the long tables, who waved her over after making eye contact.

“Good morning, Dorothea,” the Brigid princess said as Dorothea sat down, “did you have a night of good sleeping?”

Dorothea made a noise halfway between a grunt and a laugh. “Well, I’ve had worse,” she said, “but I’ve also had better. Thanks for asking, dear.”

“What is the reason?” Petra asked, leaning forward. “Are you unwell?”

Dorothea took a sip of her tea and put the mug down before answering. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she said, “I’ve…just got a lot on my mind right now. You know how that is, I’m sure.”

Petra nodded but said nothing, studying Dorothea’s face as she resumed eating. Dorothea felt comfortable in the silence; Petra was the type to stop talking when she didn’t have anything to say, and unlike most of their classmates she didn’t expect Dorothea to fill the silence for her. Whether it was cultural differences or just her personality, Dorothea couldn’t be sure, but it made her much more relaxing to eat with.

After working her way through half of her plate, Dorothea put her fork down and met Petra’s gaze. “Say, Petra,” she said, breaking the silence, “aren’t you going to eat something? It’s not like you to skip breakfast?”

Petra smiled and shook her head. “I have already had the breakfast,” she said, “and I finished before you arrived here. Because I had taken the swim this morning, I had great hunger very early today.”

Dorothea mentally translated Petra’s statement, then looked at her in disbelief. “You went _swimming _before breakfast? At this time of year?”

Petra’s mouth twitched upwards into a slight smile. “Yes,” she said. “I am not much liking the cold, but I do enjoy the swimming. It has…it is reminding me of home, in Brigid.”

“I see,” Dorothea said, at a loss for words. Her friend had gotten a faraway look in her eyes, one that Dorothea recognized; whatever Petra was looking at right now, it must have been several years and an entire ocean away from their current situation.

Petra blinked, and just like that the moment was over. “If you have an interest,” she resumed, turning her attention to Dorothea, “it would bring me much happiness for you to be joining me.”

Dorothea couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Not in this weather, sweetie,” she said, “I’d be freezing my face off! I’m afraid I don’t take too well to the water in any case; I didn’t exactly get much chance to practice, growing up in the city like I did. Still, thank you for the offer!”

“You are welcome,” Petra said with a smile, “and I shall have to be asking you again in the summer.”

“Hah! I look forward to it,” Dorothea said, returning the smile.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. No classmates accosted Dorothea outside the door of the Black Eagles classroom this time, and she took lunch by herself in relative peace and quiet. After she finished eating, she went for a stroll around the monastery grounds to get some fresh air. There was some studying she was probably supposed to be doing, but Dorothea figured as long as she didn’t run across Edelgard she could put it off for a little while. The Imperial princess took an active interest in the success of her classmates at their studies, and her idea of helping tended to be more…_authoritarian_ than Dorothea enjoyed. It was nice to have a leader who cared, she supposed, but if Edelgard had one fault it was not understanding the meaning of the word “restraint.”

Her path took her past the dormitories, and on an impulse she went to knock on Bernadetta’s door.

“Bernie? You in there, dear?”

There was no response. Dorothea chewed on her lip and tried again.

“It’s me, Dorothea; nobody else. Just coming to say hi!”

Still nothing. Dorothea stood back from the door and squared her shoulders.

“If you don’t say anything, sweetie, I’m going to have to come in just to make sure you’re still alive. I don’t _want_ to barge in, but…I’ll do it anyway!”

This latest development was met with yet more silence. Dorothea sighed to herself, then took the door handle in her hand and pushed.

To her surprise, it swung open easily, revealing a distinct lack of Bernadetta. Only her scattered painting supplies and balls of yarn greeted Dorothea, who shut the door just as quickly in her embarrassment.

“Good thinking, Dory,” she said under her breath, “it’s not like people ever have to leave their rooms or anything…”

After looking around to make sure no one had seen her, Dorothea continued walking, heading towards the greenhouse. She was within arm’s reach of the entrance when she heard a familiar voice call out to her.

“Ooh, Miss Dorothea, I wouldn’t go inside right now, it’s a bit…here, hold on.”

She turned her head and saw Auntie’s face pop up from behind a row of shrubs. Auntie waved a pair of pruning shears at Dorothea in greeting and stood up to face her.

“Here's the thing. See, I was in there just a few minutes ago,” Auntie continued, brushing herself off, “tending to the squash, and Miss Bernadetta walks in, as she often does. I say hello, she says nothing, all the usual, and she goes to check up on her plants. It’s all well and good, and then - you’d never guess who walks in!”

Dorothea cocked her head to the side. “Who was it?”

Auntie gestured to her to lean closer. “None other than ‘_Ferdinand von Aegir,’_” she said with a grin, mimicking the young man’s distinctive cadence. Dorothea gasped theatrically, then giggled at Auntie’s impression.

“I didn’t think he had any interest in this kind of ‘_peasant labor_’,” she said, doing her own best Ferdinand impression, “and I’ve certainly never seen him in here!”

Auntie waggled her eyebrows at her. “Nor have I,” she said, straightening up and resuming her normal voice, “and I’m here every day! But in any case, he greets me as he comes in - very polite young man, I will say - and then starts walking around like he owns the place, not a care in the world. Well, he goes ‘round the corner, towards Miss Bernadetta, and then — the strangest thing happens.”

Dorothea realized she’d been holding her breath throughout Auntie’s explanation, and let herself exhale. “What was it?”

The gardener shook her head and smiled. “They started having a conversation,” she said, “if you can believe it.”

“Still in there, too,” she added, gesturing with a nod of her head, “and, well, I decided to give them some space to talk. Wouldn’t want Miss Bernie — _Bernadetta_, sorry, where are my manners — to feel intruded on.”

Dorothea crossed her arms and looked at Auntie as she marshaled her thoughts. “Well,” she managed, “…what were they talking about?”

Auntie made a mock frown at her. “You know I wouldn’t snoop,” she said, playfully poking the shears in Dorothea’s direction, “but if I had to _guess_ I’d say that they were just…well, talking, really. He seemed interested in learning all about her plants, where they came from, that sort of thing.”

“Or, you know, that’s what I’d guess,” she added with a wink.

Dorothea grinned at her. She didn’t like to admit it often, but she loved gossip, and much of her friendship with the gardener was based on their mutual nosiness. Dorothea stepped softly towards the greenhouse and put an ear up to the door, listening closely.

“-don’t know where it’s from, um, exactly,” she heard Bernadetta’s voice saying faintly, “but I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere in Dagda? See, it’s got the same kind of shape as this little guy here, and…”

Whatever Bernadetta said next, it was too quiet to be audible. Dorothea raised her eyebrows in surprise as Ferdinand’s unmistakeable voice reached her ears, as if he were a trumpet playing call-and-response with Bernie as a flute. “Oh, I see! They do appear to be quite similar. Must this one be fed in the same manner, as well?”

“O-oh, yeah! I mean, they’re not too picky, heh, but I try to-“

Dorothea pried herself away from the door and made eye contact with Auntie. “It sounds like they’re doing just fine,” she said. “Not what I expected, I’ll admit, but…thanks for keeping an eye on them, Auntie.”

Auntie absentmindedly waved away the thanks, and Dorothea stepped back to dodge the swinging shears. “Oh, it’s nothing,” the gardener said, “Miss Bernadetta’s a sweet young girl, so I hardly mind. Reminds me of my own daughter — ah, but that’s another story, isn’t it. You take care now, dear!”

Dorothea took the hint, and bowed goodbye before setting off in the direction of the pond to process her new information. No one was around, probably due to the chill in the air, so only the movement of the water accompanied her thoughts.

It was odd that Ferdinand, of all people, would be chatting with Bernie. Oh, he was polite, sure, but he didn’t strike Dorothea as the type to be social just for the sake of getting to know someone. Wasn’t Bernie’s father some big-shot noble in the Empire? If there was anyone who cared about that kind of stuff, it would be Ferdie for sure, so perhaps he was just playing the long game. A “future Prime Minister” had to be strategic, after all. But going about it like this? It just…

She had to acknowledge the possibility that, no matter how unlikely, Ferdinand might just be trying to be _nice_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, this is actually a DoroMitri fic, it's just not in a rush to get there. The next chapter will feature a lot more Dimitri, and I'm intending to get it uploaded before the new year. Happy holidays, dear reader!


	9. Changing Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected run-in, a pond, and a jacket.

After her stop by the greenhouse, Dorothea wandered over to the monastery’s pond for a lack of anything better to do. She had no more classes for the day, and staying on the fringes of the grounds would help her avoid Edelgard’s watchful eye. No one was fishing at the dock, so she had the space to herself.

On a warmer day, Dorothea might have sat at the water’s edge and dipped her feet in the water. Today, though, there was a slight breeze coming in from across the pond, so she perched herself atop a barrel, out of the wind, and gazed at the rippling reflection of the midday sky before her. As she did, Dorothea started to hum the tune she’d been practicing on the piano the night before; without having to fit words to it, the melody was far more comfortable.

The sound of footsteps reached her ear, and Dorothea turned to look. She saw Dimitri descending the staircase from the dining hall, apparently oblivious to her presence. He was scanning the docks as he walked; as he reached the last step, Dimitri frowned and scratched his chin in thought.

Dorothea said nothing and waited. As she’d hoped, Dimitri noticed her presence as he continued onwards, and he gave her a friendly wave.

“Hello, Dorothea,” he said, “sorry to bother you, but have you seen Gilbert?”

She waved back and cocked her head to the side in a show of thought. “Gilbert’s that old ginger knight,” Dorothea said, “built like a tree trunk, and never smiles, right?”

She saw Dimitri force down a grin before responding. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s accurate,” he said, “and he is also quite the fisherman, so I thought there was a chance of finding him here. Has he come by?”

Dorothea shook her head. “Nope, though I’ve only been here a few minutes myself.”

“Hmm.” Dimitri scratched his chin again. “If you do see him, would you him know that I shall be at the knight’s hall, and that I would like to speak with him?”

“Sure thing!” Dorothea paused, and then let her instincts win the battle against her good manners. “About what?”

Dimitri gave her a puzzled look. “Oh, it’s…just some arrangements we need to make with the knights before our next mission,” he said, “nothing too urgent. Thank you, regardless.”

She nodded at him, and Dimitri started to walk past her. Dorothea began counting under her breath. Before she’d made it to “ten,” Dimitri stopped and turned to face her again.

“Say, aren’t you cold like that, without a coat on? It’s practically winter, and this is one of the chilliest parts of the monastery.”

Dorothea shrugged. “A little,” she acknowledged, “but…I like being by the water’s edge, I guess, so I’m used to it. I used to spend a lot of time by the river, back in Enbarr. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been?”

Dimitri chuckled. “No, that’s quite a ways out from Fhirdiad,” he said, “and it would cause quite a stir if the crown prince of Faerghus showed up on the Imperial capital’s doorstep, wouldn’t you think?”

“Hah, I suppose so,” she said with a smile, “though I’m sure Edie would have been happy to receive you, knowing how well you two get along.”

For just a moment, so fast that Dorothea wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not, the expression on Dimitri’s face changed to something unreadable; as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone, replaced with his stock visage of friendly politeness.

“Yes, that might have been nice,” he said, “though I didn’t exactly have a great deal of time for vacations in my youth. Perhaps in a few years, after we’ve claimed our thrones, I can schedule a more…official visit, let’s say. A declaration of friendship, between nations and their rulers.”

“That would be lovely,” Dorothea replied. “Enbarr’s a beautiful place, if you know where to look; I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

“What do you mean?”

The breeze from the pond ruffled through Dorothea’s hair, and she adjusted it back into place before responding. “Oh, I’m sure you can imagine,” she said absentmindedly, looking out at the water, “like any other place it’s got its good side and its bad side. If you were a guest of Emperor Edie, for example, you’d get to see all the nice areas: the royal palace, the merchant’s quarter, the central district…but there’s much more to the city than that.”

“Ah.” Dimitri crossed his arms and met her gaze. “So Enbarr has slums of its own, then? I suppose that’s no surprise, given what I’ve heard about the size of the capital. Fhirdiad is little different in that regard.”

She shrugged again. “I wouldn’t know about Fhirdiad,” Dorothea said, “but yes, just a few streets away from where the rich and powerful make their living you’ll find entire districts of people struggling constantly to make ends meet.”

“I was one of them, once,” she added with a sigh, turning her eyes to the water once more, “and…well, I can’t say I miss those days.”

“Ah. Yes.” Dimitri followed her gaze out over the pond, and they lapsed into silence. The only sound that passed between them was the gentle lapping of the water’s surface in the breeze.

After a moment, Dimitri cleared his throat. “You know,” he began, “I find your resolve most impressive, Dorothea. I imagine few would have the strength of heart to do what you did.”  
Dorothea felt her cheeks flushing, but she smiled and shook her head. “I was lucky, Dimitri,” she said, “that’s all. By the whims of the goddess, I was plucked from poverty - living on the _streets_, dear - and granted the chance to make my way here. I’m only taking advantage of what was given to me.”

Dimitri studied her face silently, and it took all of her effort for Dorothea to meet his gaze. “Perhaps,” he concluded, finally. “I suppose you were blessed by good fortune, but you still had the courage to leave behind a successful life in the opera for…well, _this,_” he said, gesturing at their surroundings with a sweep of his arm. “Not everyone studying here would have had the conviction to do the same.”

Dorothea frowned. “Leave it behind?” She averted her eyes and huffed out a sigh. “Dimitri, I would’ve been gone from the company within half a decade. You can’t be a diva for life.”

She shivered before continuing as another breeze rolled in, feeling the prince’s eyes on her. “I just played the cards I was dealt, when they made for a good hand,” she said, looking up, “you can’t tell me anyone wouldn’t have done the same from my position.”

Dimitri appeared to be mulling over her words, so she let the silence of the pond wash over them once more. The pause went on for so long that she was about to hop down from her perch on the barrel when Dimitri shrugged off his jacket and offered it to her. She looked at him, perplexed.

“Won’t you be cold without that, sweetie?”

Dimitri scoffed lightly. “Not as cold as you, it would seem,” he said, and Dorothea half-smiled in agreement. “Take it, if you’re going to be out here for a while; I’ll be seeing you again for my next lesson tonight, yes? I can go without an extra layer until then.”

She could go without one too, if she felt like it, but this smelled like an opportunity that was too good to pass up. Dorothea had learned very quickly after making a name for herself back with Mittelfrank that men offering you gifts did so as much to make them feel good about themselves as to show appreciation, if not more so. Accepting their gifts was an easy way to gain their favor, even if it sometimes led to certain…unwelcome expectations down the road. She’d learned the hard way to spot the difference between men expressing simple, honest admiration and those trying to buy her favor; Dimitri, for all that he had a troubled past, hadn’t shown anything other than sympathy and concern, and so she wagered that he fell into the former camp.

Besides, it _was _getting chilly. Dorothea accepted the jacket with a smile and draped it over her shoulders, noting with surprise how large it was on her frame. For all that he stood out in a crowd, it was easy to forget how tall Dimitri really was.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” she said, “and yes, same time and place tonight as before, if that’s alright with you.”

The prince offered her a slight bow. “Of course,” he said, “and I look forward to it. For now, though, I should be on my way; I still have the matter with Gilbert to attend to. Until tonight, Dorothea.”

Dorothea hopped down from her perch on the barrel with a smile and gave him a performative curtsey. “Until tonight, Your Highness!”

She noted, with some amusement, that his eyes flicked down to her chest for a fraction of a second when she was at the nadir of her curtsey before returning to her eyes, quickly enough that she would have missed it had she not been watching for it. He was a gentleman - and, despite what Felix had to say, a gentle man - for sure, but some things never changed.

In response, Dorothea winked at him, and Dimitri began to flush before turning away quickly and walking in the direction of the knight’s hall. Once he had rounded the corner out of sight, she walked to the edge of the pond and stared at her reflection in the water, feeling the weight of the prince’s jacket hang on her like a blanket. The image of her face looked back at her, stoic and silent, offering no answers to the questions ringing inside her head.

Dorothea shivered from a chill that had nothing to do with the air around her, and drew the jacket tighter around herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I was going to have another part up before New Year's? Me neither. (Some IRL stuff came up, but it's been taken care of.) Happy 2020, everyone!


	10. The Second Lesson, Pt. 1.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendly dinnertime chats, hot cider on a cold night, and contemplating the senseless violence of war; what could be better?

The rest of the afternoon passed without much fanfare. After leaving the pond, Dorothea had turned a corner towards the gardens and nearly ran into Edelgard, who was having a quiet conversation with Hubert at the time. The princess only smiled tersely at Dorothea and gave her a short “hello,” but that plus the accompanying glare from Hubert had been enough to send her hurrying back to her quarters. While neither of those two were the most cheerful sorts at the best of times, that had felt different from the normal; Dorothea had heard fables about mythical creatures who could petrify people with their gaze alone, and it seemed as though dear Hubie had been taking notes on their technique. Edelgard was harder to read at a glance, but that was only _more_ unsettling than Hubert’s obvious malignancy.

Nobility always were trouble, after all.

Dorothea put away her assigned readings after an hour alone in her room, and slipped to head out to the dining hall. It wasn’t as though they wouldn’t be there when she got back, she told herself, and studying on an empty stomach would be a waste of time if she was too hungry to focus. That the passages were on battalion formations, a topic that bored her to tears, was irrelevant; if anything, she was being _more_ disciplined by attending to her basic needs before continuing than if she’d tried to soldier on, surely. “Soldiering on” was best left to actual soldiers.

After waiting in line to receive her serving of food, Dorothea picked a spot in the corner of the hall to sit by herself and eat. Even back at Mittelfrank, where she’d made a point of being on good terms with most of the company, she’d usually preferred to eat alone. It was — well, not a “habit,” exactly. As a small, orphaned girl on the streets of Enbarr, she’d lost too many meals to other, bigger street kids to feel comfortable eating out in the open. Not everyone had been like that, of course, but when you never knew where your next bite to eat would come from you couldn’t be too careful.

As such, Dorothea couldn’t suppress a whole-body flinch when she heard someone addressing her.

“Hey, Dory. Mind if I join you?”

She looked up, and relaxed when she saw Caspar standing by the seat opposite her with a tray in his hands. He met her gaze and shrugged his eyebrows.

“I was supposed to eat with Lin,” he continued, looking around the hall, “but I guess he must’ve forgot, or got caught up in studying, or something. You never know with that guy. Anyway, do you…?”

Caspar trailed off, and Dorothea gestured to the seat. “No, not at all,” she said, “go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Caspar sat down with his tray and immediately began wolfing down his meal. Dorothea looked at his plate and snorted with amusement.

“Goodness, Caspar,” she said in-between bites of her food, “are you sure you can finish all that?”

The boy glanced at his tray and then back at her, bemused. “Uh, yeah,” he said, swallowing another bite, “otherwise I wouldn’t have asked for this much. What, do you want some?”

“No, but thanks,” Dorothea said, shaking her head, “I’ve got to watch my figure more than you do. Corsets can be such a pain to fit into, you know?”

Caspar scoffed. “Not personally, but yeah,” he said, “I can imagine. Me, well — Raphael told me the other day that you gotta eat more if you wanna get bigger, and you gotta get bigger to get stronger, so that’s what I’m trying to do! It makes sense, right? And the guy looks like a bear who learned to wear trousers, so he’s clearly on to something.”

“Hah!” Dorothea covered a grin with her hand. “Well then, if I can’t finish all of my plate, then you’re welcome to it. I want you as big and strong as possible if you’re standing between me and the enemy, after all!”

Caspar chuckled. “Cool, thanks,” he said, “and don’t worry - no one’s getting through me!”

They exchanged smiles, then lapsed into silence as they both resumed their meals. It was almost possible to forget, sometimes, that a major reason this academy existed was to teach the bloody, bloody business of warfare. So far, they’d been fortunate to not lose any of their classmates on their missions for the Church, and Manuela had been invaluable for getting them back on their feet after hard battles, but…

They both knew they might not always be so lucky.

If she closed her eyes, Dorothea could still see Caspar’s face, half-covered in blood from a gash on the forehead he’d taken while fighting a local bandit gang. She’d been the first one to see him go down amidst the chaos, and the first to scream for medics.

Caspar, for his part, remembered nearly passing out from the pain, and only staying awake because of the sound of Linhardt’s panicked voice urging him to hold on. After the blood had been washed from his eyes and he’d been healed enough to sit upright, the first thing he’d seen was Lin’s face hovering over him, looking pale, nauseated, and on the verge of tears.

It was not an image he would be able to forget.

Dorothea and Caspar continued to eat quietly for several minutes, with Caspar inhaling his food considerably faster than Dorothea could. It was a comfortable enough silence, and it might have lasted the entire meal, had a familiar voice not cut in when Dorothea was about three-quarters finished.

“Heya, Dory; hi, Caspar! Can I join you guys?”

Dorothea glanced up at the voice and saw Hilda standing next to her, bearing a tray of food and a broad smile. Hilda was looking at her, but the smile seemed to be mostly for Caspar, who shrugged in response.

“Sure, I guess,” he said, looking to Dorothea for confirmation.

“Of course,” Dorothea said, carefully keeping her expression blank. She only knew Hilda well enough to know that the other girl was usually up to something. From what she’d heard, the best way to tell for sure was if Hilda opened her mouth.

Hilda beamed at Dorothea and sat down next to her. “Claude ditched me,” she said, addressing the obvious question, “said he had to ‘go do some research in the library’ and ‘wouldn’t be available for the evening,’ like that’s some excuse. It’s not like those books are going anywhere, right?”

Dorothea shrugged, and Caspar snorted in amusement. “So anyway,” Hilda continued, “tell that boy I hate him next time you see him, would you? He knows what he did and he should be sorry — and you can tell him _that,_ too.”

She looked at Caspar expectantly, who rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he said, “but why can’t you tell him yourself? You see him way more than either of us do.”

Hilda winked at him. “It’s more fun this way, of course,” she said. “Besides, _I _decided I’m not going to speak with him until he apologizes to me first. He’ll fold from the guilt after a day or two, don’t worry.”

Dorothea continued to say nothing and waited. Surely enough, after poking at her plate for a moment, Hilda put her fork down and sighed.

“Oh, drat,” Hilda said, “I forgot to get something to drink.”

She looked at Caspar again, who took a moment to catch her intentions. “Well,” he deadpanned, “since you asked sonicely, there’s probably still some cider up there. I was gonna get a refill soon anyway; want me to get you a cup?”

Hilda smiled at him and clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh, that’s so kind of you,” she said, “thank you!”

Caspar sighed and got up from the table with his cup, making a _can-you-believe-this_ face at Dorothea. “Be right back,” he said, then walked away to leave the two girls alone with each other.

As soon as Caspar was out of earshot, Hilda shifted in her seat to look at Dorothea. Dorothea stared evenly back at her, daring her to make the first move. Hilda gave her an innocent smile and nodded in Caspar’s direction.

“What a nice guy,” she said. “This monastery could really use more people like him.”

Dorothea tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s this about, Hilda? Dear Caspar might not be able to take a hint, but you know I can.”

“Hah! Yeah, he sure can’t,” Hilda chuckled, “like, one time I wanted him to — actually, you know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything about him.”

She reached her hand up to tap on Dorothea’s shoulder, and Dorothea realized she had never taken off Dimitri’s jacket.

“That jacket looks nice and warm, Dory,” Hilda said, inspecting the material, “and really well-made, too. Have I seen it somewhere before? It seems kinda familiar.”

_Ah, there we go, _Dorothea thought to herself. “It’s very warm, yes,” she said aloud. “I can’t say what you have or haven’t seen, but Dimitri let me borrow this from him; that may explain why.”

Hilda cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “I was walking outside earlier today,” Dorothea continued, “and forgot my coat; he happened to run across me, and insisted I take it and give it back to him later. He’s such a prince, he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer!”

“Huh.” Hilda pursed her lips and looked away in Caspar’s direction. Dorothea hadn’t expected Hilda to take her at her word, of course. The other girl clearly smelled that something was up, but nothing about what she’d told her was implausible, and it was more or less true, too. A selective presentation of the truth, yes, but not _un-_true, and Dorothea was banking on that being good enough to deter Hilda from inquiring further.

After a moment of heavy silence between the two of them, Hilda made the facial equivalent of a shrug before stretching her arms behind her back and yawning.

“Well, lucky you,” she said, still keeping her gaze out towards the hall. “It’s getting _super_ cold outside, so you’d better not forget a coat again!”

Hilda chuckled to herself, and added, “Otherwise, Dimitri might run out of shirts to give you, and who would want _that_, right?”

Dorothea laughed in surprise, unable to hold it back in time. Hilda looked at her out of the corner of her eye and grinned, but before either of them could say anything more, Caspar approached the table with two cups of cider in hand.

“You laughing at me?” Caspar asked straight-faced as he sat down and handed Hilda her drink. “Is there something on my face? Careful with that, Hilda, it’s still hot.”

Hilda accepted the cider with a beaming smile. “Oh, of course not, Caspar,” she said, “your face is as handsome as ever. We were just having a good conversation, that’s all. Ooh, this smells delicious; thanks, sweetie!”

This time it was Dorothea’s turn to give Hilda a sideways glance. The Goneril girl pointedly ignored her look, and Caspar appeared not to notice whatsoever. “Yeah, no problem,” he said, “but thank the cooks, not me. I’m just the messenger, or…whatever.”

Hilda giggled, more than Dorothea thought was warranted, but not enough that she’d bother making a comment.

The three of them lapsed into silence as they resumed eating. As she observed Caspar and Hilda in between bites, Dorothea mused that she’d been in situations like this before, back at Mittelfrank. Actors were so _dramatic _with their love lives — it was an occupational hazard, really — and she’d seen her co-stars go through the whole will-they-or-won’t-they behind the scenes enough times to know where she fit in the picture. As such, it was a relief when the sound of the monastery bell broke their silence, telling through its tolling that they were three-quarters past the hour.

“Oh, is it that late already?” Dorothea said, getting up from her seat. “Sorry, friends, but I have to run. Lots I have to do for tomorrow, not enough time; see you later!”

Hilda smiled and waved, and Caspar gave her a lazy salute and a “later, Dory.” As she walked away, Dorothea heard Hilda lean towards Caspar and start talking to him _sotto voce._

“Hey, can you come help move some furniture in my room, after dinner? I’ve been meaning to clean up, but it’s so difficult to do by myself…”

_He’s got no idea what he’s in for,_ Dorothea thought to herself.

As she walked towards the Great Hall, her footsteps echoing in the night, she recalled her conversation with Dimitri from earlier in the day, plus their exchange during the first lesson, and added: _I wonder if I do, either._


	11. The Second Lesson, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea begins to unravel the layers of grief, guilt, and shame that comprise everyone's favorite crown prince. Dedue shows up, too!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, I swear! A draft of this chapter was sitting on my computer for literal months, but it turned out that living in a country that's horribly mishandled the COVID-19 situation was not conducive to my ability to write. (Who could have imagined?) Anyway, I'm still going to finish this story, one chapter at a time; the plot should start to speed up a fair bit after the events of this chapter, and while I can't say for sure I'd wager that we've passed the halfway mark by now. Enjoy!

“-Your Highness, I cannot recommend that course of action. We have no evidence to support such a claim.”

Dorothea paused with her hand on the door to the Great Hall. After abandoning Caspar to Hilda’s clutches, she’d hurried over to avoid being late for the second time in a row, but it seemed that once again Dimitri had beaten her to the punch.

Was that Dedue’s voice she’d heard? She had never spoken to the giant Duscur man, only overheard him in passing, but it was hard to mistake his measured baritone for anyone else. It wouldn’t surprise her if loose drawers shook nearby whenever her spoke. Dorothea frowned, then after a moment of thought pressed her ear to the door.

“I am aware of this, Dedue. I appreciate your counsel.”

_That answers that, I suppose._

“Given that the issue at hand is a lack of evidence, then, the logical next step would be to gather more information, wouldn’t you agree?”

There was a moment of silence before she heard Dedue’s voice again. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Indeed. We can’t cover the entire monastery with our two pairs of eyes alone, but I have an idea…”

Dimitri’s voice (and it _was_ his, beyond the shadow of a doubt) dropped to a whisper. Dorothea stepped back and stared blankly at the door, absentmindedly tugging on the hem of the prince’s jacket while she processed what she had heard. She’d never taken the crown prince to be a conspiratorial type; in a room with Dimitri, Claude, and Hubert, Dorothea would expect no fewer than five separate schemes to be afoot and none of them belonging to Dimitri. Yet here he was, whispering behind closed doors after dark to his loyal retainer, like some wicked king from a children’s story.

_Like any other noble, you mean? _

Dorothea shook head to dismiss the errant thought, then took a deep breath and put her hands back up to the door. Before she could summon the courage to push it open, she was interrupted by the sound of Dimitri raising his voice.

“Well, if that’s sorted out, then please consider yourself dismissed for the night,” she heard him say, “I have…some other matters to attend to.”

“Of course, Your Highness. Is there any way in which I may assist you?”

“Ah…no, I don’t think so, Dedue. But thank you, all the same.”

“By your leave.”

Dorothea heard Dedue’s heavy, deliberate footsteps getting closer as he turned and walked in her direction. “Well, Dory, this is your cue,” she muttered to herself, and she shoved the door open.

The door went _thud _against the wall, and in the light of the chandeliers above she saw Dedue lurching backwards, with one hand jerking down to the scabbard on his hip. His body blocked most of the room from her view, but she could faintly here a noise of surprise from Dimitri in the background. The Duscur man’s face was as stony as ever, and his eyes were locked onto hers in a wide, unblinking stare.

Dorothea’s feet acted on their own, and she took a step aside to let him pass. “Oh, sorry,” she said, chuckling nervously, “didn’t know you were there! Silly me. Hope I didn’t hit you with the door?”

Dedue made no response, but she could see his sword hand relax in the corner of her vision. She’d never gotten up this close to him before, and as she attempted an apologetic smile, it dawned on her that Dimitri had in Dedue an unfailingly loyal retainer who looked to be about twice her size. _Would he even need a weapon to kill me, I wonder? Probably not - those hands are the size of my head!_

He inclined his head slightly. “You did not, Miss Dorothea,” he said, then he glanced over his shoulder to look at Dimitri.

“Ah, yes, I’ve been expecting her,” she heard the prince say, “nothing to be concerned over.”

Dedue nodded in his direction, then turned his gaze back to her. “Good evening, miss,” he said, and Dorothea flattened herself against the door as he walked past.

She realized after Dedue had walked out of hearing range that she’d been holding her breath the whole time, and exhaled deeply. Dimitri stifled a laugh from his position in the center of the room, and poorly disguised it by clearing his throat.

“My apologies, Dorothea,” he said, inclining his head towards her, “I was discussing, ah, Kingdom-related matters with Dedue and somewhat lost track of time. Someone should hang a clock in front of my head on a stick - like traveling merchants do with carrots and mules, yes?”

He looked at her with an expectant grin. Dorothea rolled her eyes, but smirked despite herself. “You have quite the strange sense of humor, Your Highness,” she said, walking over to him. “And really, it’s fine; I made sure I had plenty of time for you this evening.”

Inwardly, she recoiled at how flirty that sounded coming out of her mouth. Dimitri didn’t appear to notice, and for once she was grateful for how oblivious he could be.

“You’re very kind,” he acknowledged, rolling his shoulders back absentmindedly, “and please, refer to me as just Dimitri. Oh, and also, I do hope Dedue didn’t frighten you back there,” he added, “he truly does mean well. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known, once you get past his, ah, _dour_ complexion.”

“He’s…an imposing figure, yes,” she said diplomatically, “but, no harm done. Say, you and him seem quite close; how long have you two - er, I mean, how long has he been your retainer for?”

Dorothea saw a flash of something in Dimitri’s eyes as he opened his mouth to respond, then pursed his lips in thought.

“Oh, I - I’m just asking to make conversation,” she hastily added, “if it’s a personal subject, then don’t…”

Dimitri gave her a tight smile and shook his head. “No, no,” he said, “it’s just…well, it’s a long story. Him and I have known each other for many years now. Ever since — hm. I’m not sure how much you would know about Duscur, as someone not from the Kingdom?”

Dorothea’s whole body tensed up at the mention of Duscur, but she did attempted to retain her composure. “The basics, I’d say,” she spoke aloud, “namely that there was an attack on several members of the nobility, and the king was - “

The sad smile vanished from Dimitri’s face, and in its place Dorothea saw the same distant, melancholy look from before.

“- I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said, cutting herself off, “I didn’t mean to drag up any bad memories.”

Dimitri folded his arms and turned his gaze to the ceiling for a moment, before taking in a deep breath and returning his attention to Dorothea. “I have those memories whether or not anyone prompts them, Dorothea,” he said, his voice sounding oddly husky, “you have done nothing wrong by your recounting of what you know.”

She did not respond, so Dimitri cleared his throat and continued. “Anyway, yes; several years ago, King Lambert, my father, was attacked during a diplomatic mission to Duscur along with the rest of his party. I was there with them, and lived as the only surviving witness for reasons only the Goddess would know. Faerghus fell into chaos within days after I returned, and it was decided that the people of Duscur were to blame; I tried to tell as many people as I could that they had nothing to do with it, because I was _there_ and I saw what happened, but…”

Dorothea noticed Dimitri’s fists clenching reflexively. _Very, very personal subject. _“…it wasn’t enough,” he said, looking away. “I was ignored; written off as a foolish child.”

“Oh, dear, that’s not…” Dorothea tried to interrupt, but for once, she could think of nothing to say.

Dimitri gathered himself again, still avoiding her eyes, before continuing. “And so, the people of Faerghus destroyed Duscur in revenge. Both the region, and most of its people.”

The last sentence Dimitri spoke echoed from the far corners of the empty room; noticing this, he frowned and lowered his voice. “Dedue was the only person I could save from the ensuing massacre. He swore his life to me in gratitude, and he has been at my side ever since.”

“You might be wondering why he doesn’t appear to resent me,” he added, the hoarseness returning to his voice as he turned his head to look at her, “seeing as I failed him and his people. In truth, I’ve often wondered the same myself.”

In the flickering light of the candles, amidst the silence that followed his words, Dimitri’s pale, shadowed face looked like it belonged to a ghost.

Dorothea felt her throat clenching as she stared at him. A small voice in her head said _This isn’t how you wanted this to go at all, is it now,_ but she drowned it out and slowly moved towards Dimitri until she was close enough to lay a hand on his upper arm.

She felt the prince recoil slightly at her touch, so she drew back one step and clasped her hands together in front of her waist instead.

“Dimitri,” she began softly, “you didn’t fail him. You didn’t fail anybody, by the sounds of it.”

Dorothea could _hear _his teeth clenching at her remark, but she stood her ground. “How can you say that,” Dimitri said, raising his voice, “when an entire region of the Kingdom lies dead, in unmarked graves, because of lies that I was unable to stop?”

As Dimitri drew in a breath to prepare another statement, he saw a pleading look in Dorothea’s eyes that stopped him in his tracks, and exhaled heavily instead. “Forgive my outburst,” he said, rubbing his temples with one hand, “but…it is clear to me that as the crown prince, their deaths and the actions of my people are on my shoulders. While I do, sincerely, appreciate your kindness, my duty to the people of Faerghus is not limited to those who are alive today; there must be justice for the dead, as well.”

Dorothea felt his words hanging in the air between them as she thought of a response. Dimitri met her gaze for a moment, then averted his eyes and looked towards the floor instead, lost in his own head.

“Well, I…can’t say I understand how you feel,” she began, “since I’ve never been responsible for anyone but myself, really. But…just because you haven’t, you know, found justice for them yet doesn’t mean that it’s over. It doesn’t mean that you’ll never…fulfill your royal obligation to Duscur, no?”

Dimitri made eye contact with her again, and Dorothea pressed on. “I don’t think - look, you were just a boy back then, right? Of _course_ the nobles, th-the adults in the room wouldn’t listen to you; they all had their own agendas, their own ideas about what happened and what _should_ happen, and they weren’t about to pay attention to some kid telling them otherwise, Crown Prince or no. Right?”

The prince’s expression was hard to read in the candlelit hall, but Dorothea thought she could see the glint of tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“You tried to help, Dimitri,” she said, softening her voice. “And you didn’t save everyone in Duscur, no, but…but I’m sure Dedue is grateful. That he’s alive, I mean, and that you tried to help when no one else would. Wherever his friends and family are now, all the ones who didn’t make it out, I’m sure they’re grateful he’s alive, too. Because of you. Isn’t that worth something?”

Dorothea lapsed into silence again and stared into Dimitri’s eyes. Her heart was racing in her chest - the same small, annoying voice in her head from before wondered if her heartbeat was more _allegro _or _presto _at the moment - but she forced herself to take steady breaths and stop her hands from shaking.

The two of them stood face to face for a long moment, saying nothing. She couldn’t help but notice that Dimitri had very clear, pretty blue eyes; they were like the surface of a river on a cloudless summer day, a comparison helped by the water gathering around his irises. Despite herself, Dorothea felt her cheeks flushing underneath his gaze. If only she could take a dip in that river…

Dimitri blinked his tears away, breaking the spell, and smiled at her weakly. “I suppose so,” he murmured.

Dorothea returned the smile, but maintained her silence. As Dimitri opened his mouth again to speak, she swiftly closed the distance between them and threw her arms around him, drawing him into a tight embrace. He was surprisingly warm to the touch, for how cool the night air was, and smelled of mix of sweat, soap, and the indescribable musk of ‘_boy_’.

She felt him seize up instinctively, then loosen up to a small degree after the initial surprise of her touch wore off.

“Oh! Um,” Dimitri started, “I don’t think this - I…I appreciate the gesture, Dorothea, but — “

Fighting a sudden surge of reluctance, Dorothea withdrew from the hug, letting her hands linger on his arms for just a moment as she did so, then looked up at his face again with a bigger smile than before. “Hey, you said it yourself,” she said, “we’re all just classmates here, right? I don’t see anything wrong with comforting a friend.”

Dimitri studied her face closely, then relaxed into a more genuine smile than before. “A friend, you say? …Ah, forget I said that. You’re right, we _are_ all equals here. So, in that case — thank you, Dorothea. Your words meant a lot to me.”

Dorothea felt a surge of emotions bubbling up from the pit of her stomach as she stared at the grateful prince. She knew that if she opened her mouth right now, those feelings would come spilling out all at once and pool around her feet, like the aftermath of eating a meat kebab from a dodgy street vendor, so instead she moved in for a second, more purposeful hug. This time, after a moment of hesitation, Dimitri put an arm across her shoulders and held her body to his.

As she stood there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, Dorothea realized that this was the first time she’d had non-incidental physical contact with any man since coming to Garreg Mach. _Dammit, Dory; you’ve gone and caught feelings, haven’t you. _

Mercifully, Dimitri spoke up after a moment of quiet, interrupting her thoughts. “So, uh, about the dance practice you had planned tonight…?”

She took the hint and extracted herself from under his arm, repressing a giggle that had far more to do with nerves than amusement. “Let’s just…reschedule, if that’s alright,” she said firmly, tucking her hair back into place, “we’ve still got a few evenings left before the ball, and to be honest, I don’t think I’m up for practicing with you right now. After — well, after all of _that_. Sorry, dear; I hope you don’t mind?”

Dimitri shook his head. “No, not at all,” he replied, “I was actually thinking the same thing. Are you available tomorrow afternoon, then? I have plans for the evening, but after lunch…”

The two of them negotiated a time to meet again the next day and said their farewells. Dorothea walked quickly back to her room afterwards, taking a path that she knew would let her mostly avoid being seen by other students in the dormitories, and had one hand on her door before an errant thought struck her mind. Instead of opening the door right away, she pressed her forehead against the sturdy wood, shut her eyes, and let out a deep sigh.

She still had Dimitri’s too-big jacket draped over her shoulders. In all the drama of their conversation and her rush to get away from the scene, she’d completely forgotten to give it back to him.

“Oh, to hell with it,” she muttered. “He’ll live without it for one night.”

_Especially given how warm he was when you hugged him — _

Dorothea deliberately hit her head against her door again in an attempt to dislodge the intrusive thought. She slipped inside the room and tossed the offending jacket onto the edge of her bed, undressed in the dark, and climbed into bed. It was cold between the sheets, but Dorothea reminded herself that it beat sleeping in Enbarr’s stables while trying not to get caught. Then, she rolled onto her stomach, shoved her face into her pillow, and let out the scream of anxiety that had been building up inside of her since the moment she’d opened the door to meet Dimitri.

It was going to be, and already had been, a long night.


	12. Intermezzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude where nothing particularly dramatic happens, as the name implies. Breakfast in bed and a little pep-talk.

Dorothea awoke the next morning to a knock on her door and the sound of a familiar voice calling out to her.

“Dorothea? Are you awake? It has been past the time of breakfast!”

Right on cue, her stomach growled embarrassingly loud. Dorothea cursed under her breath, and grabbed the first shirt she could reach from her bed.

“Yes, dear, I’m awake! Thank you,” she called back, “I just had a late night and, well, I suppose I overslept.”

“May I come in?”

Dorothea shrugged the shirt on over her head. “Of course, Petra.”

The door swung open to reveal Petra, wearing a large, heavy scarf over her regular school uniform, and carrying a plate of breakfast food and a fork in one hand. She stopped abruptly in the entrance when she saw Dorothea and blushed.

“O-oh, my apologies,” she began, turning her head away, “I didn’t — I will come back when you have finished dressing.”

Dorothea laughed and sat up in her bed, tossing her hair back. “I said you could come in, didn’t I? And I’ve got a shirt on, anyway; that’s enough for just the two of us.”

Petra hesitantly made eye contact with her; Dorothea smiled at her, and Petra returned the smile in kind, relaxing visibly, before shutting the door behind her and looking around the room.

“When I was not seeing you at breakfast,” she said, “I made a guess that you were still asleep, so I brought you this. …Where should I be putting the plate?”

The only furniture in Dorothea’s room that resembled a table was a small writing desk against the wall opposite her bed, which was permanently covered in piles of musical scores, books for class, unopened letters, and yesterday’s clothes. After considering the question for a moment, Dorothea waved a hand dismissively.

“Just give it to me here,” she said, “I’ll eat it in bed, thanks. These sheets could use a wash anyway.”

Petra complied, gingerly handing over the plate of food, and then stood at the foot of the bed, unsure of where to sit. She’d brought Dorothea a small pile of sausage links, one scrambled egg, and a pair of biscuits with a dollop of butter on the side. The smell alone was enough to make Dorothea’s mouth water, and she nearly yanked the plate from Petra’s hands before remembering her manners. She set it down in her lap and decided to go for the sausages first — those would go bad the fastest.

Dorothea took a nibble of the least-greasy one she could find. It was lukewarm at best, but it was food, and she was hungry, so she kept going.

“Mm! Petra, sweetie, you’re an angel,” she said, in-between bites, “I owe you one.”

“Think nothing about it,” Petra responded, inclining her head respectfully, “you are my friend, and friends should be caring for each other.”

Petra shivered and wrapped her scarf tighter around her in that moment. Dorothea paused eating, and gestured to the foot of her bed with the fork.

“Don’t just stand there, silly! It’s drafty by the door. Come on, sit down.”

Petra moved around to the side of the bed and gratefully lowered herself down, positioning herself so that she could look at Dorothea with as little twisting as possible. Dorothea continued eating once Petra had settled in her spot, and made it all the way to the biscuits before a thought occurred to her.

“Hey, Petra,” she said, swallowing a buttery lump of biscuit, “I bet it’s a lot colder out here than it is in Brigid, isn’t it?”

Dorothea had never known Petra to be the complaining type, so she had to hold back a giggle when she saw the normally stoic princess pout in response to her question.

“Ugh! Yes, Brigid has much more warmth, even in the late months,” Petra said, with a hint of petulance in her voice. She looked out the small window in Dorothea’s room and sighed. “Now, I am going to the sauna most days just to be warm, but I wish greatly to be feeling the sun instead.”

“Me too, dear,” Dorothea said, reaching a hand out to pat Petra’s knee, “Enbarr never got quite this cold either. Still, that’s what we get for going to a school built on a mountain, huh?”

Petra gave her a dubious look. “Perhaps,” she countered, “but I am thinking that neither of us was having much choice.”

Dorothea frowned. “Yeah…”

The two of them sat in a heavy silence for a moment that went on for longer than either wanted it to, before Petra rolled her neck and forced a smile.

“In any case,” she said with a deliberately cheerful tone, “practice with the weapons is a good way of keeping the body warm. I will be doing the — the fighting? The not-killing?”

She looked at Dorothea helplessly and made a sword-swinging motion with her arms. “How do you say it, when you attack a friend, but to improve your skill and not to hurt them? I’m sorry, I do not remember.”

Dorothea scratched her head.

“Not ‘practice’?”

Petra shook hers. “It is…it is like the name of the place here where we do — that thing. Near the sauna.”

Dorothea stared at her blankly, then snapped her fingers as the realization dawned on her. “Oh! You mean ‘sparring,’ like the sparring grounds. Right?”

Petra beamed at her. “Sparring! Yes, I am to be sparring for Dimitri and his friends later this morning. Felix said that they wanted to fight against a Brigid warrior. Do you want for me to bring Dimitri’s coat to him?”

The question about Dimitri’s jacket caught Dorothea off-guard and mid-bite. She realized that Petra was sitting right next to where she’d thrown it the night before, so it made sense that she would’ve noticed; Petra had a hunter’s eye for detail. Dorothea forced herself to swallow her mouthful of food, and drummed her fingers on the plate.

“Hmm. Well, only if it’s not a bother,” she said, “I’m supposed to meet up with him this afternoon anyway, so don’t worry about it if you can’t.”

“I am not so weak that I cannot be carrying a man’s coat,” Petra said with pretend seriousness, “even one as large as this. …Say, Dorothea?”

_Ah, there it is._

Dorothea decided to pre-empt the question. “Oh, it’s…well, he lent that to me yesterday because I was sitting outside without my own jacket,” she said, “and then I forgot to give it back to him. Him and I had another dance lesson last night, you see. That’s why I overslept.”

She rubbed her eyes, then smiled at Petra. “He’s an interesting guy, that Dimitri. A prince to the bone, too.”

Petra searched her expression. “I see,” she said carefully. “Is that meaning good things, or is it not?”

Dorothea laughed in surprise. “Ha! Good question. In his case, it’s…good, I think. You know, I thought he was a pretty simple guy, at first, but turns out he’s got a lot going on underneath the surface.”

She paused as the memories of the previous night flashed in front of her mind’s eye: how Dimitri had whispered behind closed doors to his loyal retainer; how he’d wept for the people who were labeled as his father’s killers; how shocked he’d been at her touch. There _was _a lot going on with him, to be sure — and yet…

“Well, I say that,” she continued, “but…if you go even further down than that, past everything that’s, you know, _just_ beneath the surface — he really is simple, in a way. He’s just a kind, decent man. But one with a _lot_ on his shoulders.”

Dorothea realized that Petra was looking at her with an odd smile. “What’s that look for, eh?”

Petra shook her head, still smiling. “It is nothing,” she said. “You have gone to many — ‘dates,’ is that the word? — with men here, and told me about many of them.”

“It is not often that the things you say are nice,” Petra added, poking her playfully in the leg.

Dorothea laughed again. “Hey! That’s not — well, okay, it’s fairly true,” she admitted, “they’re really either boring, sleazy, or _weird, _for the most part. But some of them have been at least tolerable!”

“Yes, of course,” Petra replied, smirking, “and is it many that you went to a third date with?”

Dorothea opened her mouth to protest, and then as she processed Petra’s question she shut it again.

“…No,” she admitted. “Only like two, or maybe three? Honestly, most of them don’t get past the first one.”

Petra was studying her with an amused expression, and this time it was Dorothea’s turn to give an exaggerated pout.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Pet,” she said, lightly swatting Petra’s closer arm, “I just can’t afford to waste my time with the wrong kind of guy! If it was only about whether or not I liked them, it’d be different, of course, but — well, _you _know. This is my future we’re talking about. I won’t get another chance to be young and beautiful again.”

Petra reached for Dorothea’s hand and squeezed it as she met her gaze. “You will always be beautiful, Dorothea.”

It wasn’t the words Petra said that made Dorothea’s line of thought stop in its tracks as she stared at her friend. She’d heard it all before; the girls in the Mittelfrank Company all fawning over her latest performance, the so-called ‘gentlemen’ thrusting flowers and gifts at her, mouths speaking of love and eyes betraying hunger. Whether they wanted to be her or to have her, the people circling around her status as a diva had never left her wanting for flattery. Calling her ‘beautiful’ was practically passé.

What caught Dorothea off-guard was that for as much as she could tell, Petra actually _meant_ what she’d said.

Petra must have noticed her surprise, because she continued without waiting for a response. “If there is not the ‘right kind of man’ here,” she said, letting go of Dorothea’s hand, “you will be very welcome to join me in Brigid. I would…I do not want you to be worrying for yourself.”

Dorothea felt tears brimming in her eyes; she blinked them away, then wordlessly pushed herself up into a kneeling position and drew Petra in for a hug. After the initial surprise wore off, the Brigid princess wrapped her arms around Dorothea in kind.

“You’re such a gem,” Dorothea said, still not letting go, “thank you, sweetie. I’m glad I met you.”

Petra said nothing, but gave her a small squeeze in response. Dorothea let her head rest on her friend’s scarf for a moment, then wriggled out of the embrace with a smile.

“Anyway,” she said, straightening out her shirt, “I’m pretty good at getting what I want, so I’ve just got to keep looking, that’s all. And — well, that brings us back to Dimitri, doesn’t it?”

She stared into the middle distance of her room and sighed as Petra watched her face closely. “So, yes; I’ve been trying to catch his eye. It’s been going…not quite how I’d hoped, to be honest,” she admitted, “because every time we talk, it’s just gotten _sad_! I keep thinking hey, we can just dance together, get some alone time, I learn what kind of guy he is, flirt a little — but no. I can’t go five minutes of talking to him without accidentally reminding him of something painful.”

Dorothea screwed her eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of her nose as more memories of last night’s conversation projected themselves into her head. “Ugh. I must look like such an ass to him, don’t I. I’m supposed to see him again this afternoon, but…”

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Petra casually stretching her arms out behind her back. The princess frowned at her as they made eye contact. “Has he said any things that…are indicating he does not have approval for you?”

Dorothea paused to think. “I suppose not, no. And I’ve definitely seen him checking me out, so _that’s_ not a concern. But he’s as polite as — well, a prince; even if he didn’t want to talk to me, I don’t think he’d…”

As she trailed off, Petra jumped in. “If he is not saying a dislike,” she said, poking the bed she was sitting on for emphasis, “and you are hearing a dislike, it is not coming from him. An empty pond does not make waves, yes?”

Dorothea could not summon a response.

“I have decided; I will bring to him the coat,” Petra declared, standing up as she spoke, “and when we are not in sparring, I will be asking him about the dance lessons that you have done with him. Then, I can tell you if he is feeling dislike towards you or not. Is that acceptable?”

Petra looked at Dorothea for approval, who nodded. She grabbed the jacket in question and slung it over her shoulder, then walked two paces towards the door of Dorothea’s room before turning to look at her again.

“You are a good person, Dorothea,” she said. Her voice was gentle, but firm, and Dorothea saw a softness in her expression that the foreign huntress rarely showed. “I am sure that Dimitri has appreciation for you. Perhaps it is the showing of that appreciation that he finds difficult.”

“…Yeah. You might be right about that.” Dorothea smiled at her friend. “Thanks, Petra. I don’t know what I’d do without you, sometimes.”

Petra acknowledged the compliment with a smile and a nod of her head, then let herself out of the room with her free hand, waving goodbye on her way out. Dorothea took a deep breath and waited for her thoughts to settle in her head, then swung her legs out of bed, stood up, and looked around the room.

“An empty pond does not make waves, huh…” she said to herself. That was one to ask Petra about later. In the meantime, there were clothes to put on, boys to meet, and —

Dorothea burped, grateful to be able to do so in the privacy of her own room. As she smelled the aftermath of breakfast, she realized that Petra hadn’t taken the plate with her when she’d left.

_— and a trip to the kitchens that needs to be made._ Better get a move on, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the scarf Petra wears in this chapter, I like to imagine it's a tartan that in Brigid would be associated with her family or clan. "MacNeary" is an unmistakably Gaelic surname, and the Brigid custom of body marking does bring to mind the dubiously-historical accounts of ancient Britannic people using woad or other pigments to color their bodies, so having a clan tartan would fit that theme well enough for the purposes of Fodlan. (Not to mention that Brigid and Dagda, much like the British Isles, were seized by force and folded into an empire, buuuut we probably won't be getting into that neck of Fodlan's history here.) Based on her unique Assassin outfit in 3H, it'd most likely be a solid maroon matching her hair; simple and practical, much like the girl herself.

**Author's Note:**

> 12/4: Updated the summary to be more useful.


End file.
